Post by mildofthewild on Oct 1, 2021 19:21:32 GMT -5
The lapping of waves against a hull of one's own design is the most harmonious melody that can lull a shipwright into a sense of ease; the slight taste of salt on the sea breeze was the cherry on top that helps to drift those that make their mark with ships into a satisfied slumber, pleased with a job well done...
The sea foam licks greedily at the sides of the rounded out sea ferry, the white painted wood almost beaming underneath the overhead sun as it glistens along with the pounding waves. The paint had been applied expertly, with not even so much as a stray bubble catching the eye of the passengers as they had raced up the ramparts that very morning, and what awaited them inside was a betrayal of expectations. For if the outside of this ferry was quaint, with it's rounded planks and gondola canopy, then the inside was truly a work of art that only the most dexterous could bring forth from rigid steel and timber. The ship itself took after an almost canal theme, complete with expert brick work that made up a Venetian style courtyard and red umbrella tables that helped to sell the commercial aspect of the vessel, something both shipwrights had ended up arguing hours over on the practicality of it all. Especially on such a harsh deadline.
Towering above, wooden spires reach out and curve inward to act as the vaulting for the wide, red and white striped tent that fluttered over the guests, it's angle perfect for catching winds and providing much needed shade from the overbearing sun, all the while rows from the sides of the ship extend outward to lazily drag the ship forward, each powered wind powered by the propellers extending out, each designed like the petals of a rose as they twirl in the sun.
Lieutenant Diovolo was not happy about this. Not one bit.
The Marine took it upon himself to check every nook and cranny of the ship prior the guests boarding, checking to see if the structure could stand to his high standards and ulterior motives...needless to say, the craft was flawless.
*Damn it...just as I feared, it's impeccable. At this rate, they'll get the contract for sure...*
The very nature of this lackadaisical voyage was one of grave importance...there was a contract on the line. In particular, a contract with the marine base of the nearby Ice Nine island, one that would see a freelance shipwright work to repair and design new vessels for the base for one whole year, with further years of service expected. Of course, Diavolo had his own vested interests...after all, he made a very lucrative deal with a lone shipwright from the island that would grant him a sliver of the profits should he land the job. It would have been an easy way to line his pockets...were it not for a tag team of nitwit shipwrights. "How the hell did they make a ferry like this so quickly, they only had 3 months! Grrr, look at them, gloating over there..."
Of course, what was gloating to Diavolo was merely a mentor and his apprentice taking a moment of relief after an aforementioned 3 months of hard labor, as a bottle of whiskey passes its way between them at a nearby table. A smaller man by stature, Darren Straizo constantly pushes his rounded spectacles back on his face as he laughs uproariously, keeping the bottle to his lips in between and nearly spilling it all over his oversized dress shirt, the hem of which reaches past his knees and nearly catches on his sandals. His apprentice, much larger in stature, tries fruitlessly to wrestle the bottle away, desperate to get a taste himself as another rolls away. His tanned-brown skin and hefty frame wouldn't have been particularly out of place, but the fin poking from his hawaiian shirt put the pieces into place: he was a Fishman, and a rather weak-willed one if he couldn't snatch a bottle from his teacher. A bandanna flutters around his mouth, billowing with his exasperated breaths, but never betraying what lies underneath.
"GEHGEHGEHGEHGEHGEH! Whaddya mean we coulda used a hydraulic system?! If we kept with that kinda the talkin, we'dve never made the deadline ya idjit, gehgehgehgeh!" The old man says, running a hand across his bald scalp before taking another swig, just barely dancing out of his student's grasp.
"We would've finished way sooner! Trust me, I know a thing or two you crazy ko-just give me a taste, I've earned it haven't I!?" The fishman says, practically whining as his body slumps across the table, covering its entire width while his mentor laughs wildly, chiding his student with a flick on the nose. "Ye knowin the rules, elders drink first! Me lips, oh how parched they are, would ye deny an olden man that simple pleasure of a drink?"
"If they're crusty bastards like you, yeah!"
Diavolo scowls, choosing to take a moment to think on the rear of the ship, sitting at a bench overlooking the vast and glittering sea before him. What to do, what to do...
The sea foam licks greedily at the sides of the rounded out sea ferry, the white painted wood almost beaming underneath the overhead sun as it glistens along with the pounding waves. The paint had been applied expertly, with not even so much as a stray bubble catching the eye of the passengers as they had raced up the ramparts that very morning, and what awaited them inside was a betrayal of expectations. For if the outside of this ferry was quaint, with it's rounded planks and gondola canopy, then the inside was truly a work of art that only the most dexterous could bring forth from rigid steel and timber. The ship itself took after an almost canal theme, complete with expert brick work that made up a Venetian style courtyard and red umbrella tables that helped to sell the commercial aspect of the vessel, something both shipwrights had ended up arguing hours over on the practicality of it all. Especially on such a harsh deadline.
Towering above, wooden spires reach out and curve inward to act as the vaulting for the wide, red and white striped tent that fluttered over the guests, it's angle perfect for catching winds and providing much needed shade from the overbearing sun, all the while rows from the sides of the ship extend outward to lazily drag the ship forward, each powered wind powered by the propellers extending out, each designed like the petals of a rose as they twirl in the sun.
Lieutenant Diovolo was not happy about this. Not one bit.
The Marine took it upon himself to check every nook and cranny of the ship prior the guests boarding, checking to see if the structure could stand to his high standards and ulterior motives...needless to say, the craft was flawless.
*Damn it...just as I feared, it's impeccable. At this rate, they'll get the contract for sure...*
The very nature of this lackadaisical voyage was one of grave importance...there was a contract on the line. In particular, a contract with the marine base of the nearby Ice Nine island, one that would see a freelance shipwright work to repair and design new vessels for the base for one whole year, with further years of service expected. Of course, Diavolo had his own vested interests...after all, he made a very lucrative deal with a lone shipwright from the island that would grant him a sliver of the profits should he land the job. It would have been an easy way to line his pockets...were it not for a tag team of nitwit shipwrights. "How the hell did they make a ferry like this so quickly, they only had 3 months! Grrr, look at them, gloating over there..."
Of course, what was gloating to Diavolo was merely a mentor and his apprentice taking a moment of relief after an aforementioned 3 months of hard labor, as a bottle of whiskey passes its way between them at a nearby table. A smaller man by stature, Darren Straizo constantly pushes his rounded spectacles back on his face as he laughs uproariously, keeping the bottle to his lips in between and nearly spilling it all over his oversized dress shirt, the hem of which reaches past his knees and nearly catches on his sandals. His apprentice, much larger in stature, tries fruitlessly to wrestle the bottle away, desperate to get a taste himself as another rolls away. His tanned-brown skin and hefty frame wouldn't have been particularly out of place, but the fin poking from his hawaiian shirt put the pieces into place: he was a Fishman, and a rather weak-willed one if he couldn't snatch a bottle from his teacher. A bandanna flutters around his mouth, billowing with his exasperated breaths, but never betraying what lies underneath.
"GEHGEHGEHGEHGEHGEH! Whaddya mean we coulda used a hydraulic system?! If we kept with that kinda the talkin, we'dve never made the deadline ya idjit, gehgehgehgeh!" The old man says, running a hand across his bald scalp before taking another swig, just barely dancing out of his student's grasp.
"We would've finished way sooner! Trust me, I know a thing or two you crazy ko-just give me a taste, I've earned it haven't I!?" The fishman says, practically whining as his body slumps across the table, covering its entire width while his mentor laughs wildly, chiding his student with a flick on the nose. "Ye knowin the rules, elders drink first! Me lips, oh how parched they are, would ye deny an olden man that simple pleasure of a drink?"
"If they're crusty bastards like you, yeah!"
Diavolo scowls, choosing to take a moment to think on the rear of the ship, sitting at a bench overlooking the vast and glittering sea before him. What to do, what to do...