Orous VS. Dagon

[viruswithshoes]

An okama marine walked into a bar and sat down in front of a large fishman bartender. There was an awkward silence for nearly thirty seconds before the okama pushed back some of their blonde mohawk and tucked it behind their left ear.

After a something like a sigh and a groan, the marine tapped their blue painted fingers on the bar while expressionless.

"What's the difference between me and Amber Lead Syndrome? My dad didn't beat Amber Lead Syndrome."
The person in the long white skirt and matching sleeveless mandarin coat then narrowed their blue eyes at the bartender and grunted.
"That was a joke, you see. I've been told to work on my sense of humor. My father is quite alive."

Dagon, the marine in the white skirt and blue lipstick sighed once again and asked for five empty shot glasses. The white clad stranger then stood and ran an index finger across off the tiny glasses and filled them with their preferred brand of white rum from the South Blue.
"A free drink for whomever leaves now."
Three men took the offer.

"I have a quandary. I require a sailing vessel from you, Mister Orous. The problem is we have never fought. I can't trust a person I have never fought. I will need a few minutes of your time and a certain amount your blood."

With some practiced ease, the androgynous blue eyed blonde unbuttoned the long coat covering their torso and exposed a sleeveless, white Takoyaki Bell tee shirt that exposed two slender arms laden with tattoos. The coat fell onto an empty stool and waved gently as one more person decided to grab their free drink of leave the tavern.

Two decided to remain and as far as the person in white and blue was concerned they had accepted the danger of their situation.

"My name is Dagon Basqiat, mister Orous, and we will be fighting this evening."

[mildofthewild]

The bar itself was a mere watering hole for passing sailors and downtrodden Marines that had been ridden a little too hard by their commanding officers. Broken backs and spirits mended themselves with the biting taste of frothing booze, something Orous was all too happy to accommodate himself, sighing deeply as he pours himself a mug to guzzle down behind his bandana. It had been a long day, between managing the tavern himself and the company he was keeping from the various Marines filtering in. That was precisely why he wasn't quite prepared for a rather eccentric figure to come in and clear out his customers, the Fishman looking on helpless as money walked out the door. 

"H-hey, could you not just-" He starts, mustering courage to reprimand...or maybe that was a strong word, more like...lightly scold...at any rate, he was cut off by the Marine in question as they state what sounded like cold hard facts about the future...

"Huh? I...listen, buddy, I think you've got-" The man took his coat off. His tattoos brazen against the worn wooden shack of a bar, Orous taken aback as he leans against the drinks behind him, escape cut off. This counter....was a prison of his own making. 

"Fighting? L-listen, I'm-I'm not...I'm not much for fighting, I'm just a bartender, you know?" He says, but Dagon's words caught him in a vice as the marine made a promise. There would be a fight. This evening. 

"...O-okay...okay, we can fight, but can it at least be outside, I've still got to make a living here..." He says, rubbing his neck as he tries to think of something he could use to his advantage. Building a boat was one thing, but fighting? He had to figure some way to not get killed....

"Well, I'll need the time...to prepare, you know? We'll fight right outside, just...could you stop scaring off my customers?"

[viruswithshoes]

With a nod of his blonde, mo-hawked head Dagon stepped outside into the front of the tavern but kept focus on Orous not only to make sure the fishman kept his promise to fight but to to gauge his opponent outside of the fight.
Even if Orous wasn't abundantly clear, Dagon could read the hesitation in the larger man's body language. A person's gait said something about that individual, but not as much as their fighting style.
Dagon preferred to reach out to people via fists and kicks.

The battle ready okama stretched in inhuman ways in order to prime themself for the fight. Their unpleated black shirt swung in the wind as Dagon kicked a leg upward for an axe kick, but instead of stopping at his muscles natural ending point the leg extended and bent enough to lightly kick at their own back, leaving bare foot prints.

Ten, manicured and blue painted fingers were splayed and held up in front of the stretcher's face, stretching far longer than fingers with joints or bones ever could.
This was all for Orous' benefit, even though Dagon wondered how the fishman would have fought without Dagon's presentation of his devil fruit powers.
As much as Dagon loved fighting he hated hearing from whiny opponents that considered devil fruit powers as a form of cheating. The tattooed martial artist sometimes wondered if they really were a cheater.

"I'm giving you five minutes! Just think of this cigarette as a fuse connected to a bomb."
The okama made of alcohol slowly lowered their head while fumbling with a black steel cigarette case, plucked out a matching lighter and one roll of paper stuffed with tobacco and crushed hot peppers.
The fear of being set aflame did little to make Dagon stop smoking, merely the method of how it was done.

The fuse was lit while the bomb looked downward lest an errant ember from the tobacco consume their whole body in a painful, highly combustible death.

[mildofthewild]

5 minutes?! What kind of lunatic was this?! Orous panics, looking about the bar for some kind of protection; his whole plan had been predicated on the idea that the stranger would give him a little more time to prepare...and a little more to work with than just a bar! He scrounges through what was on hand, shaking his head at the assortment of bottles and mugs. Just what the hell did he have that could...

...

"You've gotta be kidding me..."

---

Orous enters the arena, stepping into the warm glow of the mid-afternoon sun with a heavy pit weighing down heavily in his chest, his cheeks puffed slightly both out of anxiety and a tinge of embarrassment. After all, he was outfitted with a rather ridiculous display; his body was covered in the empty shells of his bar's whiskey barrels, complete with a large base across his chest and mugs lining his biceps and forearms, along with some light padding on his knee caps...

"...Alright, I'm here..." His voice barely reaches above a glowering mutter, his eyes failing to capture Dagon's own gaze; he could barely look another in the eye with such a weak attempt at protection on. 

"Ground rules, no hitting in the crotch!" He adds, quickly, having thought on the possibility quite a bit...and also because he couldn't really makeshift any protection down there. 

[viruswithshoes]

Dagon's pale blue eyes blinked over and over at the larger and stronger fishman that felt the need to cover himself in bottles and other pieces of Orous' extemporaneous armor.
In the language of fighting, this meant to Dagon that the bartender was either mocking the mohawked fighter or afraid of him. The first notion is what stuck. It was like starting a conversation off with an insult.

Smoke was caught in Dagon's lungs as if it was a physical manifestation of their annoyance with Orous. It was their intention to give Orous the first blow out of a sense of decorum, but the haphazard armor circumvented whatever manners the androgynous fighter possessed.

Dagon swiped their left arm in an arc and launched a crescent of sharp, compressed air at Orous, directly at the armor on his chest then took one step forward, pulled back their right arm, far longer than any normal human could due to transforming their right arms partially into the same white rum that the marine offered inside of the bar.
The liquor fist increased in its' destructiveness when coupled with years of training in a version of Fishman Karate named 'Drunken Kaiju'.
"SUUUUIIIKEENNN!"

After a pause, Dagon made a promise.
"I vow your crotch will remained untouched as always."

[mildofthewild]

"...Hey...hey, hey, HEYHEYHEYHEYWAI-"

The slash blew against Orous's armor, the wood smashing to splinters and leaving the fishman's chest bare, all while he flinches and winces against the incoming attack. When no follow up came, a twinge of hope allows him to take a small peek at his opponent, though that quickly became a bloodshot, eye popping revelation that Dagon wasn't quite done with their attack....

Those eyes spin and tear up at the impact of Dagon's fist, the Devil Fruit user's palm digging in deep into his gut and causing the air to blow from his frame, making the fishman deflate somewhat before being rocketed back into the side of his bar. Wood collapses against his girth as he practically sinks into the side of the building, Orous wheezing as he slides forward and onto the ground, face first, all while drooling into the dirt, unable to stop shaking. Slowly, one hand rises, his webbed fingers splayed out and giving the impression of a white flag of surrender, mostly because the color had drained from his body. 

"Th-that's....that's enough, you....koff you give....ugh, oh I can't feel my toes...." 

It might be a disappointing end, but it seemed pretty clear (at least hopefully) that Orous was not the most experienced fighter. The rest of his armor fell to his sides, his eyes rolling as he was lost in the oncoming haze of unconsciousness, desperately clinging to the present...though with the foaming at his mouth, it didn't seem like something entirely worth hanging on to right now. 

[viruswithshoes]

Dagon's breathing annoyed him for being obnoxiously audible while seething. After Orous complained about his toes the okama fighter could finally unclench their teeth and take a less angry and less noisy breath.

Dagon tugged at his skirt while squatting in front of the fishman bartender. "You're being serious, aren't you? If I weren't here to do something as innocuous as see what kind of person you are, you would be quite dead."

The martial artist gave th non-fighter an appraising look before unbending their knees and standing up one again. As Dagon's torso rose, a hand festooned with a sea devil tattoo stayed in place in front of Orous' face to help him up.

"Just so you know, I don't believe in pacifists. You'll fight one day. I'm sure of it and I hope to be around to see it."
Dagon's blue painted lips parted in a rare smile for the stoic okama. "Since you are easily the most vexing person I have ever met, you won't have long until someone tries to kill you."

The frustrated marine who only wanted a fight in order to get to know someone turned away and began to walk away.
"I won't require your services, Mister Orous. Thank you for your time, but I've decided to seek another shipwright."

Even though Dagon imagined Orous would annoy them massively, they couldn't help but wonder what kind of vessel the alleged pacifist would make.
The lieutenant from Marine Intelligence made a mental note to revisit Orous, if not for a ship, than to see if pacifists really existed.