The Magnificent Three!

[Sam]

It was right around 10 am in Whiskey Town, Resinbar's residential criminal cesspool. Bounty Hunters from all over the Grand Line flocked to the local in search of the scum that dwelled here. Not many of the actual locals bothered the criminals opting to stay out of their way but that often didn't work. Especially with the pettier of folk. Perhaps not the perfect place for the common. Iago, on the other hand, was in the perfect place to test his skills.

How can a swordsman test his skills among gunmen you may be pressed to ask. But that's the thing. If he only fought those with swords then he would only be able to duel one kind of enemy... and besides not all duels were fought with swords. Some preferred the three pace and turn gunfights. Others the high noon shootouts. That's the thing, there wasn't a right or wrong when it came to duels. You did what works best for you and for Iago swords in fact worked best. So if he was going to learn and be the best swordsman. The best duelist to ever sail the seas, to fly the skies, to walk the earth. Then he had to learn to fight all matter of enemy. Those with guns, swords, fists, and even ability users. No one was safe for his thirst.

The mink let out a sigh leaning on his chair, the whirling blade of the fan above singing its lullaby. It was still early in the day, only a few patrons and local drunkards hung around the darkened saloon. It keeps cleaning a glass, a thin man with a massive dark-haired handlebar mustache... a white shirt with red stripes decorating it is what he wore. Iago, for his part, settled the strings on his guitar. Legs proudly propped up on the table. Trouble had yet to stir, sure but it would eventually... it always did. It was like a hurricane... up and about. Without warning.

*crash*

The saloon's doors slammed open crashing against the walls as a man in a dark coat and cowboy hat walked in. The sound of clicking spurs clicked as he took steps into the bar, behind him two lackeys wearing similar clothes followed suit. One hand on his hip and another over his mouth fidgeting with a big cigar... one eye wide and another squinting. Red-faced with blonde hair. Green eyes with dark circles. "Diamond Back" Jackson, a wanted criminal with a bounty of 12,500,000 Beli... not much by Grand Line standards?

But he was known to stir up trouble with his lackeys. Mostly partaking in bank robberies, the occasional murder, and extortion. Iago's ears flickered, lifting themselves up. The veil of his porcelain mask that obscured his mink features caught some stray rays of sunlight. Its sheen brightly shining on the edges ever so slightly. His thin gloved fingers stopping their tune. Everyone's muscles... were tensed.

"A drink for me and the boys, please."

---

Iago | Saffron #F4C430 | (Post Count: 1)
Jackson | Gun Smoke #F5F5F5

[pepsi]

-- CHAPTER 2 // THE MAGNIFICENT THREE

She hailed from Alabasta, so she was used to the heat. She was a bounty hunter, so she was used to seeing criminals and scumbags skulking around the same places she did. She was a smoker, so she was used to the smell of that saloon.
What Jillian couldn't stand, however, was loud people. Every time a man would cheer and yell, she'd look at them from under the brim of her dark hat - just enough so they'd notice her glare. She looked like charcoal; a dark hat with a large brim to cover her head and face, dark hair flowing down from it, and a long dark coat to go with it; cowboy boots made of black leather, their heels touching the surface of the table in front of her while she lounged. Black leather pants with metal rings embedded on the sides, and a similar pattern for a pair of black fingerless gloves. This stood in stark contrast with the pallor of her skin, and the silver of her eyes.
Index and thumb took the cigar in from mouth every once in a while, to fill the ashtray a bit.

تراخ
[CRASH]

He entered the room like a madman and an inconsiderate. The loudest he could be, Jillian thought; again, her eyes locked with the man for a fleeting moment. She'd seen the guy on some poster around town - a few more than ten million Belly, if she could remember right. She couldn't remember the name.
Soon, his fellow crewmates followed - each as loud as the rest if not worse. They took their beverage and went to look for a table. For a strange twist of fate, three of them decided that Jillian's table was going to be theirs - after all, Jillian had been sitting there alone all this time.
A muscular man with a moustache and a broken monocle sat right next to her, letting out a groan like he'd been standing for a year. "Sitting here all alone, heh miss?" Upon hearing the word "miss", the other two approached the table. "Mind if we keep you company, you know?"
Jillian's head tilted to the opposite side; she tried to ignore the guy: if she gave them the cold shoulder, she thought, they'd leave.

-- NAME // Jillian Nexus

-- CLASS // E

-- TECHS USED // None.

.

[cowboyjotaro]

Gamio adjusted the cowboy hat on his head for what he hoped was the last time, but it was certain not to be. It was customary dress for the region, and the man wanted to blend in - although he was doing a hysterically poor job of that. In the first place, while his headgear was better adapted to the arid climate of Resinbar, the unchanged rest of his attire stood out like a sore thumb. His worn, raggedy purple shirt had edges as jagged as the cacti which dotted the island’s desert landscapes. Not to mention, while the weapon of choice on each fighter’s hip was a six-shot revolver, Gamio lacked a holster of any kind. Instead, he carried a greatsword large enough to be unwieldy for the normal person strapped to his back.

Once Gamio breached the borders of Whiskey Town, he, as with all visitors, promptly concluded that the name was apt. Everywhere he looked, all he could see was saloon after saloon, with easy revolving doors, still swinging and reeling from the entry of some thirsty customer. Well, Gamio’s throat was equally parched, and presented with a wealth of choices, he made his decision based on one factor: proximity.

The nearest saloon was a rather generic establishment, one where the dusty wooden floorboards creaked like frogs in heat and where the raucous laughter of grisly types greeted each newcomer’s ears with the grace of a wounded duck. In short, it was loud and dirty, but Gamio didn’t care. He ducked his head through the doorframe, grabbed the nearest stool and balanced it beneath him as he awkwardly took a seat.

“Whisky. Neat.”

"Sitting here all alone, heh miss?" some men asked an unassuming woman in the corner. "Mind if we keep you company?” Gamio glanced at the woman in question and looked her over. Dressed entirely in more black leather and metal than any man in the saloon, he wondered how she fared underneath the unwavering Resinbar sun. Her current concern, however, was with the trio accosting her.

“Oh come on now miss, where are your manners? All we did was greet you, and you can’t even return the favor?” The ringleader glanced at his goons, grinned, and as if on cue, all three erupted into laughter. From Gamio’s position at the bar, he took a sip and swiveled to observe the proceedings. He squinted, taking in the details of one man’s face: red-faced with blonde hair, green eyes with dark circles. He might have first seen that face anywhere, but where? He had never met this individual before.

And then Gamio recalled a stack of papers which flew through the air, settling at his feet. Papers with names and numbers: bounty posters. “Diamond Back” Jackson, worth 12.5 million to the Marines who wanted him alive or dead. Nervous eyes turned toward the tall golden-eyed man as he removed his greatsword from his back. He spun the immense weapon over his head twice while declaring in a calm voice: “Jackson, give yourself up. Your twelve and a half million beli head is mine.”

And, after that brief warning, he swung the greatsword over his head, ripping a hole in the ceiling and then promptly crashing it into the table, splitting it in two in between the criminals and the woman they had been harassing not one minute ago.

[Sam]

Almost immediately after the trio of troublemakers walked another man followed suit. An individual with a top heavy build and... less heavy legs. Iago watched the clumsy, golden eyed man come in fixing his hat and dressed in an intent to fit in despite the massive longsword strapped to his back. But soon his attention was turned back the troublesome trio who approached a young dark haired woman strapped in full leather.

"Madre mia..."

Iago let out an annoyed sigh, oh the typical criminal scum coming to bother a lady minding her own business. Well, that's probably why they were criminals. They just wanted attention... to take the easy route in life. He shook his head slighly, the rays of sunshine pouring through the roof shimmering over his porcaline mask. Trouble would surely arise and just as he thought that the young man who had ordered himself some whiskey of his own decided to interject. So he was a bounty hunter? That would explain the out of place sword, not that Iago could judge as his very own swords were visible.

"Hold it, muchacho!"

Iago leaped into action using both his rapier to parry the attack on the table. The sound of steel clashing against steel vibrated throughout the entire saloon. Iago smiled, although that wasn't visible underneath his mask.

"You can't just cleave through a señoritas table you know that? Or introduce yourself to your enemy like that! That's foolish! Obtuso!!"

He exclaimed, at this point the cowboys had gotten up and readied their pistols aiming them at both Iago and Gamio. But Iago hadn't a worry in the world. For the men held their shots as their leader spoke up.

"What's the big idea...?"

---

Iago | Saffron #F4C430 | (Post Count: 2)
Jackson | Gun Smoke #F5F5F5

[pepsi]

-- CHAPTER 2 // THE MAGNIFICENT THREE

Another figure approached the table; it wasn't another underling of Jackson's, Jillian thought. Her eyes glanced over the man's greatsword as it swung: typical weapon, no distinguishing features, no decoration. It was a blade without distinct personality, perhaps even without a true connection with the swordsman. The blade was ever so slightly dulled - she could tell, even from that far away - so the man really liked to drive big impacts with it. So, she concluded, a beginner fighter who really enjoyed abusing their strength.

Her suspicion was confirmed when the guy pierced a hole through the ceiling, to show his ostility towards the entire table she was sitting at. The man mentioned wanting to get Jackson's bounty, but then why attack her too?
Jillian reflexively pulled her legs away from the table; if that sword was coming down, she didn't want it anywhere close to her body. The blade began its downward descent, gleaming in the light peeking through the ceiling...
But it never reached the table. A new contender had stopped the blade, parrying the hit with his own. A pair of rapiers, Jillian noticed. Much like the greatsword they were pitted against, they lacked personality - no decoration other than the battle wear.
The exchange drew out the guns on her side of the table and Jackson's as well.

The girl really found herself in a spot she never asked for. Men can really be a nuisance, she thought; when all she wanted to do was chill and have a few good quality cigars, five people stormed around her table.
Jill let out an annoyed sigh, and lifted herself up onto the table. She walked across its surface, calmly strolling past the two swordsmen in a deadlock. She hopped down the table, and aimed for an empty seat near the counter.
The men sitting at her table were as confused as anyone can be.

Jackson was dumbfounded by the whole exchange. "Okay!" he said, pointing his guns at the girl and the other two, "Nobody else move, now! Or I'll shoot!".
Jillian stopped for a fraction of a second, looking at the man's stance and weapons. Having carefully inspected the man's pistols from her position, she continued walking in the direction of the one seat. "I said stop!" The pistol-slinging cowboy repeated.
The girl clad in black leather stopped again to look at the guy. She responded, in her husky voice: "Twelve million, I don't care. Small fry."

-- NAME // Jillian Nexus

-- CLASS // E

-- TECHS USED // None.

[cowboyjotaro]

Gamio clicked his tongue in frustration. Instead of the satisfying feeling of the wooden table rended into pieces by his heavy greatsword, he felt the telltale resistance of metal on metal. Small sparks flew through the air as he encountered yet another opponent - a man in a curious mask. There was no cause for this intervention, Gamio thought. No cause, at least, that could justify denying him the twelve point five million beli he had promised himself.

The masked man yelled out absurdities with a raised voice, and delayed Gamio, giving time for the cowboys across the way to draw their weapons and raise the stakes in the confrontation. How foolish of him. There were bigger problems than this knight in shining armor with too many good intentions to realize that the damsel in distress he intended to save needed no such aid.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?”

Gamio scowled, but he had no desire to answer the question. Instead, his piercing, hawkish, golden expression looked over each of his potential opponents. Evidently, the woman who had been sitting at the table wasn’t too pleased with the attack either. Even as the cowboys ordered everyone to stand still, she hopped over to the counter, and declared Jackson small fry.

Hmph. She must be a hunter too, for who else would possibly memorize a bounty save for a fellow mercenary. She may have looked down on the meager sum - after all, it might have been impressive in the four Blues, but in the Grand Line, it was pennies - but Gamio had no such restraint. Cash was cash, and it was his to claim. Jackson himself, however, was incensed.

“Small fry? How dare you look down on me.”

Gamio, staring down the barrel of several guns, found a solution. He couldn’t swing his greatsword faster than they could simply pull their triggers, that much was certain, but there were other options. He squinted and looked at the hands of the man furthest to the right. With his exceptional sight, he could notice that he was trembling ever so slightly. The other two to the left were more assured, and most definitely more competent with their revolver of choice. As for the masked interloper to one side...well, his gaze was impenetrable.

The black-haired bounty hunter sprung into action. With a swift kick of his left leg, he sent the table he was so eager to cleave in two towards the two more competent cowboys to the left, then immediately rushed towards the nervous third man. Holding his greatsword in front of him as a makeshift shield, and running crouched down with his center of gravity low so as to make himself a smaller target - a difficult endeavor, considering he was nearly ten feet tall - he shielded himself from the incoming shots. Two struck the surface of his weapon, sending vibrations down into his palms which were tightly gripping its hilt. Two other shots flew past his head towards the masked interloper.

“Granite Wave!” the top-heavy man yelled as he swung his sword with maximum power, slashing across a cowboy and sending him flying.

This bar brawl was becoming much more difficult than it had to be. Perhaps Gamio’s tunnel vision on gaining the man’s bounty was to his detriment on this occasion?

[Sam]

It was pure chaos, everything... the woman jumped onto the table and called Jackson a small fry. There was no doubt to her words, indeed Jackson was nothing but a bootlicker likely serving a more intimidating boss with a worthwhile bounty. That is all to say that there were bigger fish to catch in these waters. At least the lass had her mind in the right place... mostly? Iago couldn't agree with that prancing around on the table.

Although, lucky for everyone... the storm of madness had caused some hesitation from Jackson's part as he held up both his pistols and so did his men. Iago's ears flickered slightly as he attentively watched the situation unfold... the damp darkness of the saloon feeling stronger. Rays of sunlight creeping through the roof lighting up the show that had unfolded. The world seemed to stand still for a few seconds... although to those involved it seemed like ages.

Adrenaline coursed through everyones body as they readied themselves for a fight. Waiting for someone to make the first move. Who would bend over to their bloodlust first? By this point the other neutral parties within the saloon were hiding behind their tables.

Unsurprisingly, it was the very one who had instigated the fight. Kicking a table off he ended up striking Jackson's right hand man to the ground leaving the left one to fend for himself. Only something was now missing... Jackson! The man had dashed to the side at lightning speed with both guns extended one aimed at Jillian and another at Gamio he unloaded. Seeing this Iago kicked into action jumping over the table and hiding behind the counter. There he spotted the barkeep who was shivering in fear holding a shotgun tightly. That's when the Mink got an idea...

"Hola!"

Meanwhile outside a band of Jackson's men heard the gunshots and broke in armed and ready. Without knowing it, Gamio had started a shoot out in the small saloon.

---

Iago | Saffron #F4C430 | (Post Count: 3)

[pepsi]

The situation was quickly becoming worse. The troublemaker found himself in the sights of too many guns; Jillian observed as he broke the stalemate with a calculated use of his environment. She had to admit it, flipping the table over to isolate only one mook was a pretty good move on his part.
Jackson understandably couldn't accept it no more. One gun pointing at the man, and one pointing at her, he shot with the first and held back on the second; weird, she thought - she was rather sure she'd get a bullet too. But it was understandable, after all: the man didn't take her words well but she wasn't an immediate threat.
In the meantime, the masked swordsman passed her by and scurried behind the counter; Jillian made her best attempt at tracking his movement, but she lost interest once he was behind her.

If that wasn't enough, the situation went even more pear-shaped. Probably alerted by the gunshots, more underlings of Jackson's entered the saloon; they watched Jackson aiming at Jillian and the other swordsman. "Shoot!" Jackson yelled, shaking both guns in the loose direction of where they were supposed to fire.
He didn't really mean to say "shoot the woman", but the underlings only saw what they saw. And they assumed the worst.

طخ!
[BLAM!]

The first of them immediately took a shot at Jillian, hitting her shoulder. Black drops scattered on the floor, tainting the dusty wood. The woman recoiled a bit, the hat hiding a completely neutral expression on her face.

طخ ! طخ!
[BLAM! BLAM!]

Two more bullets, at the woman's chest. Jillian staggered, and took one step back.

طخ!
[BLAM!]

The last shot downed her. She fell back towards the counter, back crashing into it; the black cowboy hat graciously hit the ground where she stood. She slid on the counter until her backside hit the ground, leaving behind a dark shiny stain of what was most likely blood.
"Not her, you idiots! Him!" Jackson repeated, more or less unfazed by the death of a woman right before his eyes - and just because of a misunderstanding, too - and wiggled the guns again in the approximate direction of the troublemaker swordsman.

-- NAME // Jillian Nexus

-- CLASS // E

-- TECHS USED // None.

[cowboyjotaro]

Perhaps it should have been expected on a - quite Wild - West Blue Island such as Resinbar, but what started as a simple bar fight was quickly becoming something more. Strangers in each direction began to pull out weapons, and faster than you could say “Shoot”, errant bullets began flying through the air all around the saloon guests.

If one could trace each of the shots fired in that saloon, one would find a small web. Quickly tangled in that web was the mysterious dark woman sitting at the bar. Four shots, like four beats of a drum, cut through the ruckus of the bar and struck her squarely, throwing the leather-clad woman back. The head of the incompetent lackeys who would fire on an unarmed woman was angry at their error - but, crucially, not remorseful - and directed them to fire at Gamio instead.

Control; it was the most important aspect of any engagement. The raggedy warrior had entered into battle too quickly, and it was getting away from him. He supposed that in this situation, he should re-evaluate his priorities. “Capture or kill the bounty” moved down to an admittedly distant second place, while “Survive” took its place at the mantle. With a grunt of effort and without taking his eyes off the reinforcements for a second, he grabbed the other half of the table and dove behind it.

Splinters flew through the air, and Gamio realized that this too, had been a foolish move: the wooden table couldn’t withstand the force of flying bullets, and before it could be further turned into a hastily made copy of swiss cheese, the golden-eyed man leapt once again behind the considerably thicker bar, where he was met by the masked individual from earlier. This time, however, he was armed with a shotgun.

“Oh, it’s you.” Gamio stroked his chin and opened his mouth, then closed it, hesitating. Ah, yes.

“Ah...your precious woman was deftly executed by those men firing at me now. If you could fire at them instead, that would be much appreciated.”

[Sam]

It didn't take long for the mink to convince the bartender to hand over his gun. Quickly and without many words expressed between both of them, the bartender crawled through the back door and abandoned the metaphorical ship. Holding onto the gun tightly Iago smiled as he checked it for bullets. Opening up the cell he found it full and loaded. That's when someone else bounced over... Iago almost struck the man if it weren't for his recognizable features. The hawk-eyed swordsman with hot blood.

"Amigo! You're still alive, fafafafa. Guess you aren't as dull as I thought."

Iago teased, he let out a gentle sigh as he removed the mask from his face. It was starting to get hot with all the action. Finally revealing the furry fox face that hid behind the mask.

"Oh... she did?"

He smirked, his sharp teeth shining under the dim light as he cocked the gun. A slight rage in his eyes.

"Shame."

With a gentle shake of his head.

"Listen, I got a plan. I'll pop out and open the way for you. Follow after me and do your thing. Entendido?"

Without waiting for a response, he poked his head out, shotgun in hand. But instead of shooting with it, he smacked a cowboy who had been chasing Gamio and was going to pounce on them. The strike hit the man in the face causing it to turn red, a few teeth were knocked out. Bullets flew across the tables and over the bar hitting the barrels of liquor. Booze spewed across the floors and flew everywhere. Looking across Iago saw the fans were still spinning around. Aiming he shot down one of the fans with a loud boom. Crashing down the fan smashed a few of the cowboys causing a plume of dust to blow over and reducing visibility slightly.

"Now! Go! Go!"

Iago called out.

---

Iago | Saffron #F4C430 | (Post Count: 4)

[pepsi]

تراخ!
[Boom!]

دَمْدَمَ!
[Crash! Shatter!]

Jillian was shoved through the window by the explosive force. The glass shattered, the window frame came off clean; the girl flew what felt like a kilometer before hitting the ground. The horrible sound of her body impacting against the stone pavement is something she would never forget.
Jillian hit her head hard on that pavement; the details were hazy, she felt like the whole universe was spinning around her. But she still had the metal lockbox under her arm, she could feel the cold metal against her skin even in that reverberating blur spinning in front of her eyes.

The mission was supposed to be easy. Distract the guards, infiltrate the house, steal the lockbox. But it got much more complicated from there.
Where she was supposed to find only one guard, she found two; where she was supposed to find poorly armed people, she found a pair of trigger-happy crazy bastards that would gladly blow themselves up before any treasure was stolen from them. The window was still smoking from the bomb they set off, and the damage to Jillian herself was at that point not even calculable.
Nothing else mattered at that point. What mattered was that the contents of the metal box was safe and sound, as it was worth tons of money.
But it wasn't.
Holding the lockbox over her face, Jillian felt something hit her cheek; a liquid, and it was pouring out from the box's keyhole. "No..." the girl said softly. All of her efforts ruined, all of her possible gain from that heist gone forever. And she probably lost a good chunk of her vitality just because of the bomb. For once in her life, she felt like she might not have made it home for the night.
At that point, it was only a matter of doing what one would consider the only logical move.

She opened her mouth and let the liquid pour in.

-- NAME // Jillian Nexus

-- CLASS // E

-- TECHS USED // None.

[cowboyjotaro]

Gamio’s instincts turned out to be correct - the masked man was no foe of his, and he was perhaps, in this dangerous instance, even a friend. He was, however, much less devastated than Gamio might have expected about the black haired woman’s death, only muttering one “Shame” before shaking his head and loading his gun.

"Listen, I got a plan. I'll pop out and open the way for you. Follow after me and do your thing. Entendido?" the masked man commanded. The golden eyed broadsword wielder was no stranger to hasty plans, as evidenced not two minutes prior, and understood perfectly what the rapier -- no, shotgun -- wielder wanted him to do. After swiftly knocking out one incoming cowboy, and shooting the ceiling fan down on another, the pandemonium had reached such a crescendo that Gamio found an opportunity to hop over the bar counter and charge towards any gunslinging fool still haphazardly shooting around the bar.

Through the dust, Gamio’s thrusts and swings of his sword were heavy and inaccurate, but he could feel enough resistance beneath his blade to know that he had made contact. The dust quickly settled, and Gamio could see that there were only a few cowboys still left to dispatch - Jackson, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Some good samaritan had begun to form the words of warning, but as they yelled out Jackson emerged from behind Gamio and struck him in the head with a glass bottle, all six bullets of his revolver’s clip having been expended in the wild frenzy earlier. Gamio opened his mouth to scream but found he had no strength to. He fell backwards, his broadsword clattering on the ground to his side, groaning.

Jackson knelt down and pressed the barrel of his gun against Gamio’s head. His smug grin would have been enough to rouse anger in any able bodied person without his crude taunting. “Looks like I’ve got you now, partner. You’re like a little toddler who tried to climb out of their crib, only to discover that from their vantage point they couldn’t tell just how big the world outside was. So stay quiet there and suck your thumb or something while we kill your friend, okay?”

Meanwhile, his cohorts fired at the bar with all the lead they could muster. Iago was firmly pinned down...unless something - or someone - could change the tides of battle.

[Sam]

Good, the other man was on board. Using the dust cloud to his advantage he went on to beat down and bash of the cowboys. With Iago to support from behind, slamming the shot gun against more faces. But as the dust settled, things went from bad to worse. Even though the cowboys were low on ammunition and their numbers had severely dwindled.

"Mierda..."

The swashbuckler cursed, watching his companion being pinned by Jackson. Iago got ready, tossing the shotgun to a side, pulling a pistol of his own on the man. But as he did, the other cowboy's lifted their guns. His large floppy ears flickered in an instant. The complex of a fennec, to hear danger out before it came. The click of the barrels told him he needed to go. Just before the triggers could be pulled his vulpine reflexes kicked in and Iago did a flip back behind the bar table. Panting, as he tried to asses the situation.

"Hmm..."

He mumbled to himself, noticing the floor was slick with booze. The bullet holes on barrels causing it to pour out. Perhaps, things weren't lost after all... reaching into his pocket he pulled out a silver rectangle shaped lighter.

---

Iago | Saffron #F4C430 | (Post Count: 5)

[pepsi]

Death is an universal experience for every living being. In many cultures, death is such a prevalent topic that myths and folktales are entirely based on it, or try to explain it in the first place. It goes without mention that all people who are "close" to death, whatever it may mean, acquire a sort of supernatural status.
Among many, there are morticians. Clad in black, for some folks their status as ministers of the dead elevated them to a state of being that was, somehow, above death. The status symbol of a true "undertaker", as they were called, was a pitch black hat.

On that day, Jillian received a tremendous gift...

The situation quickly degenerated. The girl had been shot down, and despite his best efforts the bold swordsman had lost his advantage on the offensive. The other one with the mask still had to hold his own against the battle-frenzied mooks.
Jillian sighed, picked up her pitch black hat and put it back on.

... A gift of immortality.

Like a revenant, the girl stood on her own two feet once more. The few who noticed were petrified at the sight of someone they believed to be dead simply coming back to walk among the living - so fitting that she would choose to wear black that day, and a black hat too.
Her gaze met that of "Diamond Back" Jackson for a brief moment; he couldn't believe his eyes. Jillian's hand reached for the stool she was about to sit on, clutched it tight, and in a fit of silent rage she shoved the thing at Jackson's head; the wooden stool broke on impact, taking away the cowboy's balance as he fell on the ground next to the swordsman.

Riled up by the sudden offensive, the few who grew accustomed to the sight of a revenant began unloading their magazines at Jillian; every bullet would hit her, and she would lightly recoil left and right as the impacts pushed her body about. But those shots would only serve to make her even more mad.
Calmly, under the hail of bullets, she walked up to those that shot her first.
"What the hell is happening?" One of them screamed as another shot was fired. It was as if death itself couldn't bother her. As if she felt no pain at all.

When she finally reached up to them, they had no bullets left in their chamber: the revolvers spun empty, the triggers making desperate clicking noises as no explosion went off inside.
One of them decided it was time to ditch the pistols and put up the fists: he approached Jillian and landed a punch on her face. "AARRRGH!" the man screamed, shaking his hand as if he had just punched a brick wall. Jillian reciprocated with a punch of her own: a direct fist to the gut, and the man was sent flying backwards right out of the entrace where he came from. It was like taking a direct hit from a cannonball.

In her mind, Jillian would have loved to come up with some quippy one-liner at that point. She shrugged the thought off, because it would be a waste of energy - silence was just as effective.

-- NAME // Jillian Nexus

-- CLASS // E

-- TECHS USED // None.

[cowboyjotaro]

Iago, pinned down, continued hiding behind the bar. Gamio, on the floor, thought of the poor mink in that situation, but had no room to pity anyone else with a gun to his head. His mind raced with ideas on how to disarm his opponent, each more violent and outrageous than the last, but it would come to pass that none of these ideas would need to be put into practice.

Rising from the dead, the second coming of the woman clad in black put on her large hat and sighed, finding a weapon, any weapon - a stool, in this instance - to throw at Jackson. The latter collapsed as the stool struck his figure with ferocity, causing him to slump over next to Gamio, who wasted no time in getting to his own feet and kicking his enemy’s pistol far away from his hand.

The blade of Gamio’s large broadsword now resting tenderly on Jackson’s neck, drawing blood as it did so, his golden, hawkish eyes watched as what those cowboys facing the woman called impossible happened. As the scene unfolded before him, his mind wandered back to a scene from his past, a scene that would contextualize the baffling present.

---

A younger, thinner Gamio stood on the blue-painted deck of a Marine warship, slightly out of breath, having just rushed to fetch his superior officer a pair of blue handcuffs which emanated a strange energy. With barely a grunt, his superior officer acknowledged the task and grabbed the handcuffs, but Gamio stood immobile, clearly wrestling with the urge to speak. Noticing this, his commander raised his head and nodded.

“Spit it out, Seaman. What is it?” he asked gruffly.

“Well, it’s just, you see, I’ve never encountered his material on my home island. I wish to know what it is,” Gamio replied.

“This? Ah, this is a rare and powerful substance that is extremely unmalleable, and can only be coated onto blunt surfaces: Kairoseki. It radiates the energy of the sea, rendering Devil Fruit users unable to use their powers. Pesky Logias, made up of earthly elements, will no longer be invulnerable or able to transform into their element. They’ll be utterly useless.”

---

In the present on Resinbar, however, there was no seastone in sight - only the awesome power of a Logia Devil Fruit, repelling bullets and blows with the greatest of ease. The transformations into elemental form were brief, but Gamio’s perceptive eyes missed nothing.

“Thank you for your service, woman. Now that they’re all disarmed, Jackson can be taken in. You, Jackson. Are you going to be taken in quietly or... will I have to kill you?” Gamio’s expression darkened, and although Jackson’s eyes flickered in fear, he quickly composed himself, and, angry, began to hurl curses Gamio’s way.

“Quiet it is.” Using the back of his hilt, Gamio knocked the man unconscious. Already the last few of Jackson’s men were beginning to make moves towards him (and away from the black-clad woman), but between her and the golden-eyed man’s newfound mink friend behind cover, he was sure he could make some sort of getaway.