Marooned! A Slim Chance at Survival!

[SnowDog]

Freya's struggled to open her eyes, the bright light of the sun above blaring down on her making it difficult to see properly. She was dazed, confused, something about this didn't seem right. Maybe it was just too early in the morning to be dealing with this...

What resistance she originally had trying to awake suddenly broke when her eyes shot open only to be greeted with the sight of a crystal blue sky with a few clouds floating above. She sat up only to find herself halfway nestled into the sand of the unknown beach she found herself on. This didn't make any sense... The last she could remember was she and Bjorn being below the deck of a traveling merchant vessel, cozying up for the night after making a hearty meal for the crew. The Viking woman rolled over in the sand and struggled to rise to her feet. She felt weak, the same kind of weak like she had been tossed in the ocean and left to drown, but whenever she had been capsized her head wouldn't be spinning as much as it was now.

"B-Bjorn...?" She tried to speak out, calling out for her giant dog companion. Her eyes were still trying to adjust to the intense light. Where am I?! She wondered, finally managing to rise to her feet and attempt to scan the beach for her fuzzy compatriot. Glancing to her right she saw Bjorn on his back with his beans sticking up into the air, tongue lazily hanging out of his mouth. Freya ran up to Bjorn and tried to shake the big pup awake. Bjorn's eyes shot open and rolled over to greet Freya by licking her face. "Hey boy! Hey boy... What happened to us. How did we get here? Where even is here?"

Glancing over Bjorn, Freya saw her knapsack lying strung about in the sand, only her weapon being the only other item in the immediate vicinity. Freya ran over to her belongings only to find her pack was stripped clean of all possessions. Her money, her food, any and all supplies she had gathered since the last island, all gone.

"No, no no nononononono!" The Viking woman said flipping her pack over and shaking it in hopes of finding something. "THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!!"

[Phantasma]

Slim #1   

---

    Wasn't the best day for a graduation. Why even have one right? But it was something the Commodore insisted on for those training with or under his subordinates. Something about improving spirits and putting a good foot forward.

     The sun was hot, the water lapped away noisily at the docked galleons. Seagulls shrieked and the background noise of a busy marine base added to the white noise. But, at this point, Slim had had a long time to prepare for this day. 

    Several times over.     

    "Everyone here represents the best of the best. The brightest we have to offer up on the front line. The pinnacle of courageous and selflessness."

    Commodore Shozo's voice wavered. Always was the kind to hide the softer bits of his emotion behind a stiff upper lip and stand-tall attitude. But walking up the gangplank like this it was pretty clear he hadn't prepared emotionally for this address. 

    "I have had the pleasure to see each of you come into your own. All I can ask going forward is you pursue your duties with the same adversity and grace you've shown here every day since arriving," He turned suddenly after clearing the plank, looked over the sea of white and blue uniforms that had gathered near the vessel. 

    "Dismissed," He offered a smile, the web of scar tissue that made up his face softened with a shy smile. It showed his age, but it also conveyed a sort of sincerity. 

    "Except for you, Mr. Chance," He started, eyes picking out the faux-giant easily. There really wasn't mistaking the blue-haired slacker in a line up even one this big. 

    That sincerity from earlier was gone. In its place Shozo Kuroki wore a stern frown. Eyes hidden beneath even darker hair, wind had tussled it out of place. Wasn't in clean rows anymore, more like an angry shaggy palm tree. 

    Slim cracked a smile, snickering. 

    "Oh, is this funny Mr. Chance? Another year, another failure?"

    The younger man frowned. 

    "No, Sir. That's not funny one bit.

    It's sad." 

    "Very. You have so much potential...Gawaaggggh! Blub blub blub... blub," liquid started pouring out of the Commodore's mouth and dripped all over the gangplank, in no time Slim's ankles were hidden in the murky black fluid. 

    That wasn't right. 

    "Wuh... in tarnation? This ain't right... no... went differently," Slim started, taken aback and retreating back a step, hand racing down to his side out of instinct. 

    Nothing there to grip. He hadn't had his gun with him then.

    "Mmmhuh... That's right. Dream... this has gotta be some dream," Kite muttered, gripped his head as the whole place started to spin. He needed to wake up. 

    Something still wasn't right. He could feel it. And the closer he looked at the commodore through double, triple, quadruple vision he started to realize that wasn't the only source of the black liquid. Grabbing his shirt and tilting his gaze downward he felt the cold stick of something. 

    Eyes went wide, his mouth stretched in silent open alarm. 

    Black ink. 

    Case file report ink. How dreadfully symbolic.

    He couldn't make a sound through that fluid darkness, it waterfalled out of his mouth and he choked on it. 

    WAKE. UP. 

---

    
    With the grace of a piece of driftwood Slim's unconscious body slammed onto the beach. He rolled a good distance across the sand like he was surfing the water. Ended up only a few meters away from a beast and it's master. There was some time before the lanky, soaked, half-marine spat out a geyser of sea water and inhaled fresh breathes. 

    Funny thing is he never got less pale. His skin kept that creamy, untannable color. 

    First thing Slim saw when he smoothed back his stark blue hair was clear sky with next to no clouds. He stayed like that for a little while, closing his eyes and offering a prayer to whatever was watching over him while he drifted. You kind of have to thank the powers-that-be in situations like this... miracles can just as easily become tragedies. 

    Yea, no idea whose listening up there... up anywhere. But, much obliged. Drowning wouldn't've done my record no good. I ain't ending up some punchline choreboys snicker about when they sneak sodas down under the hull. 

    And just as he was starting to grin at memories of his own stow-away soda he got the feeling of prying eyes. It was kind of like the dream, first it starts off like a fuzz that settles in the spine and shoots up to the back of the head. Wasn't no supernatural aspect to it, mind picked up things you might not immediately notice. 

    Slim was stumbling to his feet in no time, soaking wet and all. His trademark cropped black jacket, brown pants and sandals. A flintlock was currently looped through several straps on his pants just under his one good arm. The other side bore empty straps which hung clumsily so, swung in the wind like the jackets golden zippers. This guy was missing his right arm... that's what would stick out. 

    "Now... easy there Miss... I mean no trouble. I think we're both victims of strange happenings here," Slim began, hand itching to go towards his gun. But he kept it hanging at his side. 

    "Lets just... introduce ourselves. Find out why this little mishap occurred. Last thing we need is more injuries while we're out here," Slim started, looking over his shoulders for a brief second. 

    "On some unmarked island. Devil's armpit, really."

    "Slim Chance at your service, Ma'am," He dipped his head without taking his eye off the pair, his paraphrased version of a respectful bow or nod.

    The beach was only one part of this small island, a dense tropical jungle was behind them with no visible break in the foliage. There wasn't any telling what lay beyond that wall of green. 

    Slim's whole body was relaxed as much from post-drown shock as it was from confusion. He hadn't really connected the dots when it came to him ending up here. He was boarding a ship one second, stowing his bags after packing them, he went up to the deck and then... nothing. Or at least it felt like nothing. 

    He had to steady himself, his head felt all groggy. Like all the blood in him was suddenly insulation foam or weighted lead. His words were probably coming out all slurred too, which really wasn't helping his southern twang and the usual confusion it gave listeners.

---

Slim Chance - Midnight Blue 213387
Commodore Shozo Kuroki - Cyprus 114437

[SnowDog]

A voice coming from behind Freya broke her concentration on her empty belongings bag. She instinctively wanted to reach out for her weapon but the distance between her and it was greater than she was willing to gamble for. Her palm began to fill with the darkened granules of black pepper as she readied her devil fruit's abilities. She could at least blindside and halt the encroaching individual with her Black Pepper Shell technique. When she had enough pepper ready, she spun around and readied her arm to throw the massive ball of seasoning at the strange man.

"NOT ANOTHER STEP FORWARD, MISTER!" The viqueen woman hollered, trying her best to intimidate the lanky fellow in front of her without having to get violent. It was hard to think straight at the moment, let alone with any sort of rationality. This place was a mystery to her, how she got here and where all her stuff was. Now a man who could be best described as a small palm tree with blue hair was walking up to her. He seemed to be reaching for a weapon at his side but wasn't itching to draw it as quickly as others would. This feels like a wild dream, the lack of any form of context only furthering her current theory. Before her, the man introduced himself as Slim Chance, a name that didn't ring any immediate bells to Freya.

"Easy on the pleasantries there, buddy," Freya defensively said, slowly rising to her feet, "You're not one of them, are you? Where you aboard the Fire Sail?"

[Phantasma]

((Holy heck I forgot to respond to this. Jesus. Use a cattleprod next time.))

Slim #2

---

    He visibly relaxed once that menacing globe of black, shadowy, granule-y looking material was lowered. Though no sooner had he deflated did he quirk a brow and hook a finger into his hair. Rolling his locks around and around he visibly pondered both the young madam's question and her very own curious appearance and choice of weaponry. 

    "Easy on the pleasantries there, buddy,"

    "You're not one of them, are you? Where you aboard the Fire Sail?"

    "Fire whose-its? Sorry Ma'am, that doesn't strike familiar. Can't say the smoke pouring off your hands there does either," He squinted only to have his eyes go wide as a sneeze threatened to blast out his nose. 

    Whirling on his feet he spun around and blasted out a grace-killing foghorn of a sneeze. When he has finished he was struggling to find something to wipe his nose with before he resolved to just use whatever was in his pockets. Some soggy, ruined, posters or paperwork. Really didn't matter at this point. Either way he turned around in a shape not much worse than when he had literally washed ashore, though perhaps his nose seemed a little more twitchy. 

    Not that he'd know why or even begin to puzzle it out. Not this soon. He wasn't enough of a gourmand to pick out pepper flakes from sea-air. 

    "So... eh-hm... since I highly doubt you'll be telling me what the smoke thing is about can you at least tell me if you're injured? Sort of my duty to help you if you are," He sheepishly rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable with having not only had his introduction scorned but completely off put by a display he wasn't capable of explaining let alone rationalizing. 

    Just what was this woman anyway? Massive dog... weird smoke... both of them trapped on some kind of beach. This was the sort of stuff you'd lie about on a report to cover up some more seedy business. Or at the least it would make for some interesting fiction. Is it possible she was dangerous? Is that why she was stranded? 

    Questions aplenty the bluenette patiently awaited a response. Confident that even if he was dumb to the truth in this situation, his gun would at the least buy him time to run if he needed it. Lying and skulking around wasn't his forte. Cutting to the point and having time to give an appropriate response was.

    Just the right amount of lazy and responsible.

---

Slim Chance - Midnight Blue 213387

[SnowDog]

"Smoke thing?" Freya pondered internally as Slim began his next series of questions towards her. She wasn't sure what he was referring to until he spun around and let loose a horrendously loud sneeze. The Black Pepper Shell! That's what he meant. Even from this far back it seemed to have somewhat of its intended effect on the man.

"It's not smoke, it's... Pepper... Like, black pepper, the stuff you put on the dinner table." She struggled a bit to define her own abilities. Saying it out loud like this just made its ridiculousness even more bizarre. "I ate the Aji Aji no Mi, a devil fruit that basically turned me into a living spice rack." Freya slowly applied pressure to her Black Pepper Shell until its hard exterior began to crumble away into a more granular form, slowly falling into the sand.

"As for if I'm injured," She started, returning to his previous question, "Not feeling any pain if that's what you're asking, though maybe a bit of my pride's been bruised." She glanced back at her knapsack all strung-out on the beach, still empty in its sad, flat shape. "So what, are you some kind of doctor, or something? Said it's your 'duty' to help people."