The Salt Spears Meet: Accidental Cults

[Kami-Gaz]

Smog, that was all there was mucking this air, it was so thick that it blocked nearly all sunlight that tried to illuminate the land. The island of Dauntaun had a depressive atmosphere covering most of the island that only seemed to lift for those that lived in the high glass towers, the only things that seemed to penetrate this smog. All of the people that lived and worked here were always being poisoned, no matter how healthy they lived just being here was poisoning them. When a mysterious winged figure appeared a week ago that all changed.

“Hey! Please can I go and get something to eat? I am reaaaaaallly hungry!” A feminine voice groaned, barely audible over the sounds of a bustling crowd that was gathered all around her and her flaming wings. The white purifying flame any that touched it, burning any toxins that ailed them and promoting healing within them. “Like I’m going to fall down and die hungry if I don’t eat soon Mr!” The tall girl noted.

“Oh, great pure one! Please hold out a bit longer! There are just a few hundred more people that need to touched by your purifying blaze!” A tall lanky man dressed in a ragged suit and donning a twirly moustache had replied to the winged girl who had a halo dripping the same bright flames. “Once they have touched your wings and donated, we can go and get you as much food as you need. I promise it.”

“… Not even a treat?” She asked as people shuffled away and more came close, dropping small bundles of money into baskets that were at her feet. She looked around and saw so many pleading faces coming close and happy faces leaving, some still baring the lick of the white flame on them as it finished purifying the toxins in their systems.

Then it happened, a long loud grumble that rattled the angel to her very core and made people wince. “Gaaaarh.” She vocalised as a hand pressed to her sundress covered belly. Then instinct took over, in a flash her form shrank down as she transformed into a dog, making people back away. Then in another quick flash she transformed into a behemoth of a lady donning multiple sets of wings as she leapt into the air. As she flew salt rained down on everyone in her path, coating the entire square in this brilliant white flame. She glowed a brilliant bright light in the sky with her 3 pairs of wings burning as bright as her halo. On each side of her face a pair of burning salt masks rested giving this being a monstrous look as she flew. “SORRY BUT I NEED FOOD! I HOPE YOU ALL FEEL BETTER!” She called down before vanishing between the buildings.

There was a sense of wonder as the people below pointed up and called “The Angel of Purity blesses us!” Or “The Pure One!” in a wave of awe. The man who was handling Mika growled with a look of rage on his face that the dog could not see. "She just ruined so much money."... Mika couldn’t care less for that, all she wanted was a good steak.

[Bobbie]

The crowd had become quite a spectacle, many people following the sound of the lanky man's announcements who leeched off Mika’s appearance and magical touch for the sake of money. It was clear that whatever this woman brought to the island was well-desired by a significant fraction of its population. Even despite the smog – or perhaps because of it – men, women, and children gathered and pushed each other to reach this healing goddess.

Following the crowd was a rather tall, rose-colour-haired man who was cosily protected in a padded light blue knee-length jacket, that looked like it could have been made out of quilt. It fitted him perfectly and his hands tucked into the pockets weighed it down securely at his sides as if ensuring it couldn’t be snatched away. His brown-rimmed boots clicked as he made his way to the back of the crowd to try and see what the fuss was all about, as well as try to get some business in. Since he lost his father’s life’s work, there wasn’t much of a calling for him in the world, so he did what he had to in order to get by.

His reason for being present at the celebration that was more like a cult-following than anything else had absolutely nothing to do with the girl. In fact, he could barely even lay eyes on her from the back of the crowd – he was tall enough to stand at 6’4, but there were plenty of taller people than him, and others with their hands up in the air in blind and stupid worship. His true intention of following such a large group of people was to make a profit. Hidden along the interior lining of his coat were a couple of handmade toys that were anatomically correct with immense detail and realistic proportions, strung up to wooden paddles to make marionettes, and each one stamped with the classic logo he’d created in honour of his father – Puppeteer Playworks.

Chase first went to a woman and child who was snacking on a packet of mini cookies. He'd pick his first target wisely, he thought.

“Hello Madam, good sir!” he addressed the child, held securely in the woman’s arms, playfully, “May I interest you in a friend?” and with that he swiftly swung one side of his coat open to reveal the several puppets. In response, the woman frowned in disappointment, “Do you have any of The Pure One?” she asked, clearly only interested in one thing. Confused, Chase stared at the toys for a moment, before he pieced her answer together – the person that they came here to see must be ‘the pure one’.

“No, but I’ve got plenty of other figurines! Like this one, I bet your kid would love…” there was no point in continuing his pitch, as the woman had already turned her back to the salesman and began grumbling beneath her breath.

Feeling insulted, Chase looked daggers into the back of the woman.

How dare you, you moronic buffoon? You and your blubbering, drooling offspring! These are all finest masterpieces! Made with delicate care and techniques taught to me by none other than the Master himself! Whoever this ‘pure’ deity is, she has nothing over the one true artist. Fool!

Wasting no more time with the woman he now considered ignorant, he slipped away to try with other people, but not before nicking an item from her purse as punishment for being so disrespectful. Unfortunately, all other responses from other citizens only fueled Chase’s frustration further as not a single soul seemed interested in anything other than this so called Angel – even those furthest away from the event, as he moved further behind the crowd to catch people who were not even a part of it yet were so dead-set on their destination that they paid him little to no attention!

He was infuriated by such an intellectually challenged population, but in the end he wore a smug smirk as he felt victorious in one way. Despite having sold nothing, it was he who was the richer, as his pockets were now also filled with trinkets and thingamajigs that he’d manage to swipe undetected from anyone in the crowd who scorned him.

Then it happened. Chase got to see the angel in flight for himself, and even he had to admit that it was quite a magnificent sight. Magnificent and flashy, sure … but surely it could not be as perfect a being as these fools seemed to believe?

With determination in his stride, he pushed somebody out of his way, a man who staggered in despair and soon joined the rest of the crowd in gawking at the imaginary trail left behind by this holy being. Before taking off, he went back to the woman and child, grabbing the packet of mini cookies out of the child’s grubby hands, and his walk soon became a run in the direction that Mika flew off to. “You want food? I’ll get you food. I've got you some little treats right here.” He grumbled through his teeth, the packet of sugary snacks facing the wrath of his gloved iron fist.

---

Chase Guillard: #eacce2

Woman in the crowd: #6cdeff

[Vio]

^{Bassanio #1}

---

Amidst the streets of Dauntaun, people went about their regular business, and one such individual had recently arrived with his trade in tow. This isle was a pit stop at most, but there was no progress without a ferry, and a ferry required money. But to get money, one had to work, for there was no value in that which was given upon a silver platter to those who could make it of their own accord. It was a strangely idealistic, yet equally laborious outlook on the workings of the world at large. It was that very same will that carried upon every motion, into that which fought back the toxicity of the steel city’s atmosphere — a passion-imbued aura that all but annihilated the industrial scent that lingered upon the air.

Despite the atmosphere, I should be thankful: Dauntaun seems a veritable melting pot of culinary sources, Rosencrantz Bassanio mused as he went through the motions — stirring, chopping, turning — and did as he saw fit and best with the ingredients he had managed to procure from the city market. Four salmon fillets, previously skinned by his own fair hands, had been freshly drained from their chilled marinade and set upon a tray under a sizzling hot grill. A large saucepan sat upon the stovetop of a portable kitchen, steam wafting upward from its boiling contents as dry soba — a sacrifice he had been forced to make — steadily turned to tender noodles.

A small sigh escaped his lips.

“A shame,” he muttered under the sounds of sizzling and boiling. “It would’ve gone well with some additional greens… asparagus, perhaps…” A man of good height, Bassanio stood six and two, with a slim physique whose true toning was hidden neath a pristine white shirt and black dress trousers. A simple black bowtie at his collar expressed formality — not a button undone — despite the presence of an apron and a toque that kept his tidy arrangement of blond waves and curls at bay. With swift and steady hands, he tended to his chopping board, topping four carrots in a single flourish of the knife before peeling them one by one.

I shouldn’t complain! I’ve already made over thirty thousand in just one day, the chef reminded himself, well aware of his earnings thus far and confident he could double that before he packed up for the night. It wasn’t simply a matter of good service, no. Those who had come had been mostly average folk, with curious palates that had been tantalised by the scents and sounds. And to say he had charged extortionate amounts would be to deceive oneself, for not a soul so far had paid more than two thousand for a meal — a decidedly modest amount for the effort placed into each and every dish…

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:}
<sub>On the streets, Bassanio cooks some teriyaki grilled salmon at his simple kitchen cart, mulling over a lack of greens and a good turn of profits.

Notes: ——</sub>

---

Rosencrantz Bassanio | #add8e6
Miscellaneous [NPC] | #eeeeee | #bbbbbb | #888888 | #555555

[Kami-Gaz]

Mika did her best to ignore the calls as she flew over the crowd, spraying it with a healthy dosage of her salt behind to give the people what they wanted. She was smart enough to know it was her salt that was purifying the toxins in their system… the toxins that were so rife in the air. Something would need to be done about that. Thoughts drifted into her head, plans and ideas on how to find clues on the people that stole her family’s treasure. The Twirly moustache man said he knew things but he needed help before he gave Mika what he knew… She had been helping for like a week now and nothing had been done!

Suddenly a heavenly scent cut through the viscous fog and all thoughts vanished as the burning angelic form shifted in direction. With speed it headed for the source of that amazing smell, that food! In a moment the large form of the seraph touched down with force, making the ground shake as she stood up straight. The wings poofed away back to a singular set as the form shrunk down to the size of a large child, the masks also fading away in a puff of white flame. Sitting atop of her head was a pair of long white dog ears and poking from below her sundress was her fluffy white tail.

“How much food can this get me Mr?!” She asked as a small purse was produced from a little back that was slung over her shoulder and she pulled out every single bit of cash she had on her and placed it on the bar as she hopped into a stool. “That’s all the pocket money Mr Moustache gave me, I will take as much as that buys! This all smells so good.” After she finished her negotiatons her stomach rumbled, in a display that was almost strong enough to shake Bassanio’s portable kitchen into rubble. The angels face shifted a few shades redder with that.

[Bobbie]

Chase had to run quite fast to keep up with the flying angel, and had to push through several people who may have been trying to do the same thing, or perhaps were just masters in the art of being in the way. As he did, he shook salt out of his hair, quite possibly being the only person present that day to react so negatively to such a beautiful gift that should be treasured.

It didn’t take very long for the flavourful aromas that escaped Bassanio’s establishment to reach Chase’s nose. It almost brought him to a halt and his mouth almost instantly began to water. Compelled to follow the scent, and also assuming that the hungry goddess would do the same, he did exactly that. Swallowing hard, his demeanour took on a swift shift – from an angry pursuer with dangerous intent, to a hungry orphan with an empty stomach. His stomach wasn’t really empty, of course – he also had a packet of mini cookies in hand! – but somehow, those didn’t sound as appealing as whatever was filling the air with such glorious scents, and while he eats well enough, he hasn’t been able to afford such a hearty meal in a very long time.

He reached the source of wondrous smells just in time to hear Mika go on about pocket money from a mysterious Mr Moustache. Peeping in from the outside, he eyed the woman who now had fluffy dog ears sitting on her head curiously for a moment, before slipping back into his hiding spot where he wouldn’t be seen from the inside. This was very interesting. He rummaged in his coat pockets to make count of what he’d nicked – some loose change, nope, those nuggets are mine… a bracelet, some supposedly lucky charm that was tied to a string, another bracelet with some shiny trinkets and jewels on it, oh a pocket watch! Hmm… fancy-looking pen, pocket mirror…

It was all stuff that could be traded in for money if he’d found somebody willing to make that transaction. He wasn’t confident that he could do it in a place like this, however, but he knew he couldn’t afford anything as fancy as what was offered here with the change he had. He wondered if the girl could. Lastly, he also found a crumpled receipt that he must have snatched up by accident.

The trained thief was about to discard the receipt, until he realised it was for an order here at this very place. What were the odds? He took the time to unfold the paper’s creases and read through it, then he chuckled to himself. Lucky day!

Pocketing everything again, he straightened himself up to be more presentable, flattened his poofy sky-blue jacket and shook his hair out of his face. He took out a handful of the mini cookies that looked a hell of a lot like dog-treats, then tossed the bag and the remainder of its contents into the nearest trashcan.

Then he made his grand entrance.

A foggy light behind him as he entered, he marched up to the counter with the air of arrogance that a wronged customer tends to have about them – even if they weren’t actually wronged. Swiftly, he brought his hand over the counter and dropped the little button-biscuits on the surface top, some of them crushed.

“Excuse me, what are these?” he asked, speaking quickly in a dissatisfied tone. “I ordered a beef wellington just this afternoon for lunch before heading out, why exactly did I find dog food in my roll?” he asked, scattering some of the biscuits to give Bassanio little to no chance to verify his claim. “I am very upset! This isn’t what should be served to your customers!” he snapped, and with that the biscuits were swept onto the floor – conveniently on his side of the bar, of course, and not the chef’s. Chase took a deep breath and continued his little performance in a show of strained patience. “Look, I love this place… I don’t come in often, but my friends and I always eat your food during big events – and even small ones!” The little tear inked on Chase’s face danced as the tall man laughed, “I know the magic that you can do with some cutlery and pan, how about just offering a replacement meal and I promise you will see me here again.” He nodded with empathy to the chef, as if he didn’t want to tarnish the man’s reputation.

“Oh! Here… you probably think I’m mad and making all this up for a free meal.” He laughed in a friendly manner and held out the receipt. “Dated today, just a little before noon. My lunch. David Sizuno.” He explained with practiced confidence.

“Maybe something nice for the hungry lady here, too?” he suggested with a big smile and glanced at Mika.

---

Chase: #eacce2

[Vio]

^{Bassanio #2}

---

So swept up in the motions was he that Bass’ back was turned to the blazing anomaly hurtling through the streets of Dauntaun, unaware of the approach of something far beyond the natures of those he had thus far witnessed. Indeed, it was only the exclamations of the populace that snapped him from his tenuous state of culinary fugue, drawing chalky blue hues from the chopping board to which he tended as a figure manifested before the counter with a near earth-shaking impact.

“What in the Four Blues…,” he uttered under his breath, decidedly startled by the event but maintaining a reserved stance and expression as best he could. Indeed, any worries were eased when a voice piped up about the one thing he was dedicated to — food. A girl, tan of complexion and white of hair, clad in a sundress.

^{“I’ll take as much as that buys!”
Grooowl…}

The chef sighed, then smiled a soft smile. Hardly did this girl look famished, but the rumble of her stomach said much about her current state of being. Though questions lingered upon his mind — queries born of both her talk and of her unusual arrival — he withheld them. Culinary code swore him to prioritise that which was most important to his profession: The filling of an empty stomach.

“Miss,” he began, taking his eyes just briefly off the girl to instead check the grill. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but, I’m sure I can cook you a filling meal of your preference — provided I have the ingredients. Though,” Mister Rosencrantz continued in a quieter tone, “I did prepare an extra portion of this teriyaki salmon on the off-chance I over or undercooked some. Seeing as you’re hungry, I’d be willing to take back the costs of the ingredients — no profits and no losses — from what you’ve offered. It’s… more than I’d charge,” he clarified, taking note of the sum laid down upon the countertop. It wasn’t an incredulous amount, certainly not screaming of wealth, but it was clear that this wasn’t supposed to be spent on just a good lunch alone.

^{“Excuse me,” a voice asked:
“Why did I find dog food in my roll?”}

Crumbs were scattered. A man of slightly greater stature but equally slim build stood across from him, draped with a trench coat that could likely have concealed much, but certainly didn’t seem unusual for the area. A messy mop of hair the colour of rosé wine hung over his head, with a light complexion broken by reddish eyes. It wasn’t how he postured, or the dissatisfaction in his tone that gave the cook ill vibes, though: It was the lack of recognition and the obvious hole — more a gaping chasm — in the supposed angry customer’s story.

“Sir,” Bassanio began, calm and proper as years of service under his father had taught him, “I have served a single beef wellington today, to one Mister David Sizuno, much as this receipt suggests. However, I distinctly remember Mister Sizuno was shorter and stockier of build than yourself, dark of hair and with a complexion of polished copper due to his profession as a steelworker. Furthermore,” he added, his eyes filled with a certainty that could pierce like a hot kebab skewer.

^{“I’ve only been serving here since this morning…”}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:}
<sub>Bassanio is confused by accepting of the strange girl, but shows a decidedly better knowledge of his customers than Chase could expect!

Notes: ——</sub>

---

Rosencrantz Bassanio | #add8e6
Mika | #99bbee
Chase Guillard | #eacce2
Miscellaneous [NPC] | #eeeeee | #bbbbbb | #888888 | #555555

[Kami-Gaz]

Mika had been sitting excitedly waiting for the man who made the good smelling food to server her up an amazing meal. Then he delivered the news that he would make her anything within his power provided he had the ingredients… Now that… was a wonderful thing, the problem was that Mika had no idea what she wanted she was just hungry. He took the note from the top and left the rest. Wait so a note could pay for a meal? That mean she could have so many more meals out of that stack of money! Wait again… that stack of money was greedily taken the last few times she had gotten herself food… Did those people lie?

Before the small growl escaped her throat a new arrival spoke up, her ears twitched with the sound of the cookie packet crinkling and her nose twitched at the sweet smell… “Those aren’t dog food mister…” She spoke softly as she heard what was going on, watching his passionate display. That was weird… this food smelled so good, how could there be dog food in here? That tasted yucky compared to people food.

With the chefs Reply Mika stood up and her wings unfurled from her back to stretched forth in a blazing white flame as the salt that coated them reacted to the toxic air. Then the form quickly grew as more wings appeared a second pair from just below the original and a third from her lower back, each blazing. Salt began to pool and extended from around her back to form two hands of white fire. They were looming over the man called… no the bad person who was lying.

“Are you LYING to Mister Cook to STEAL food from him?!” She asked, a rumbling growl coming from her as a mask formed on each side of her face, each carrying an expression of anger and fury… and again burning like her wings and extra arms. “Are you a bad person?! I don’t like Bad People!”

[Bobbie]

Chase stared at the man behind the counter, who was only slightly shorter than him, but looked like he could handle a knife well enough to prove that size would mean very little in a scuffle against this lad. Letting out an exhausted sigh, the messy-haired individual of the three clearly already resigned to his fate and didn’t even bother arguing any further. His plan failed and he was honest enough to admit that. In the blink of an eye, he swapped from the aggressor to the underdog – partly an act, but partly not untrue. He didn’t have to put much acting into it, he was genuinely tired of fighting so hard to make ends meet.

As he was about to apologise, placing a hand in each pocket of his puffy but gorgeous blue trench coat, Mika stood up and the wonderful spectacle began. An eyebrow raised, his eyes glistened and they widened as they were now fixed on the magnificent being. So this is what all the townsfolk were flocking to see…

It took more will power than he anticipated it would for his stone-face façade to remain unfazed, but Chase pulled it off quite successfully as he watched Mika with pure fascination hidden beneath an emotionless, downtrodden expression. She has wings… so they think she is a goddess? She speaks like a c h i l d. He could hear his own frustration intrude his thoughts. These fools have never seen a god in their lives, and this is what they blindly accept as a godly quality? Godly qualities are what his master skillfully crafted! Godly qualities are what the great man has delicately integrated into all of his masterpieces, his signature, his designs, his – everything! Godly qualities are what have been bestowed upon himself by none other than the superior craftsman across all the seas! In all of time, he beats them all! In current existence and past!

Chase let out another sigh of absolute disappointment.

“What is wrong with the world?” he unintentionally vocalised his final thought, prompting a bit of a flinch, which he cleverly masked by a shake of his head. “I’m not a bad person.” He immediately turned back to the chef. “I am genuinely sorry, it was a long shot, and I don’t know what I was thinking.” The artist protégée was lost in his own act and he himself couldn’t tell a lie from the truth at this point in conversation. The number one rule to a successful lie is to believe the lie yourself – so that makes it hardly a lie. He was indeed quite sorry for the course of action he’d chosen to follow and not only because it failed. It was because Master Ghouil taught him better than this.

“I don’t have a lot of money. Would you accept a fair trade instead?” he offered, taking out a fancy-looking golden pocket watch from one of the massive pockets sewn into the right side of his coat, placing that on the counter in a gloved hand as he sat down in a stool beside the one Mika was previously seated in. It wasn’t until this moment that he was starting to feel uneasy with the looming winged figure beside him and he hoped that she would just put those shiny things away and sit down again.

“It’s got to be worth something, I’m sure somebody would give some decent money for it.” He knew it should be worth more than enough for one meal, but after his stunt, he couldn’t afford to be stingy. Besides, he needed to convince this angel-girl that he wasn’t a wicked villain to befriend her and find out why she was regarded so highly while the greatest artist of all times seems to have been forgotten.

---

Chase: #eacce2

[Vio]

^{Bassanio #3}

---

What happened next as Mister Rosencrantz stared the man down was a true spectacle — a revelation of searing white flame that could have put the fear of the divine into any mortal. Where once stood a little girl now stood a many winged monstrosity bristling with otherworldly radiance, form ablaze. In instinct, the chef stepped back, but did not cower for there was no need. The incandescent ire of the entity was not at all directed at him. No, it was the deceiver who was the focus of such judgement.

An angel…? Am I dreaming…? Or have I unknowingly shuffled off this mortal coil…? No, I cannot be! I’ve got much to do before I can even consider… Gritty determination shook Bassanio from his moment of awe, flashes of pain and vengeance and love burning his mind’s eye far more than the purifying purgation seared his gaze. That was his conviction: The reaper could cometh, yet would find his sickle stayed by the cook’s own blade. No… A more logical explanation exists, he considered, mind steadied as he inhaled the aromas of his own masterworks: Devil Fruits are said to bestow otherworldly powers upon those who eat them, but I never thought one could do this…

^{“I’m not a bad person,” the man answered:
“I don’t know what I was thinking…”}

Stolen possessions…? Bassanio remained silent as the fellow preached in the luminous shadow of the angel, observing him with a passive scrutiny. The objects he procured were none of his own — items pickpocketed from passersby. Really, it explained the receipt: Stolen or not, it was proof of his scavenging nature. And if somebody was forced to resort to such things, then…

^{“It’s got to be worth something…”}

“I’m sure they would,” the curious cook said, placing two fingers down upon the stopwatch, pausing, and then sliding it back across the countertop to the now seated sir. “In my line of work you learn fast to read people for their intent, their status, and — more importantly of all — their needs. So I’ll give you this,” he added, motion returning as he squatted behind the counter and emptied the grill of still sizzling salmon strips. A couple of cheap plates — the inexpensive ceramic sort — were slipped from a small compartment and set upon the work surface, wherein they could watch the magic happen.

“Nearly a week,” the suited chef proposed in a hushed tone barely audible over the sizzling meats and gentle yet rhythmic clicks and clacks of kitchenware, “since you’ve had an actual filling meal. What, you’ve been living off hardtack, cheeses, and jerky? Perhaps a stretch that you’d have to fall so low as to make feasts of sailor and soldier rations… Ah, pardon me,” Bassanio said with a bow of his head, perhaps apologetically as he realised his words could have been misconstrued as harsher than intended. Salad garnish was spread and mixed about the salmon, then flipped before he took a simple ladle and drizzled the remaining sauce over the top. Cutlery provided, disposable napkins too, he set down two dishes.

^{“I get it,” he confirmed with cool empathy:
“Making ends meet is a difficult task…”}

He exhaled.

^{“You’ve been eating to survive… Not to live…”}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:}
<sub>Bassanio is startled by the sudden angelic creature, but reasons himself back to awareness and sees that the liar is just a man down on his luck.

Notes: ——</sub>

---

Rosencrantz Bassanio | #add8e6
Mika | #99bbee
Chase Guillard | #eacce2
Miscellaneous [NPC] | #eeeeee | #bbbbbb | #888888 | #555555

[Kami-Gaz]

The masks fell away, the salt slopping off her face and down her body. It burned away like the rest of the salt as smoggy ait approached to touch it. Two sets of wings vanished leaving a faint after image of the blazing white flames as the original pair shrunk a little to suit the now smaller and more child like body. Her form had reverted entirely as a big smile appeared on her face. All it took to calm down the spirit of vengeance and justice was a simple apology. With a nod her rear was replaced on the stool and her arms rested on the counter as Mister Cook started to talk.

He was giving the man food for free? After the lie? That was really nice of him! Mister Cook seemed an incredibly nice person that cared about the people! With a resolute nod she sat quietly, letting her feet swing as she did. He had looked at this other man, the hungry one and guessed that it had been a while since he had eaten a good meal. He could tell that from how a person was acting? That was impressive.

“Mister Cook! If you need money for Cookie Man then I don’t mind using some of mine! Mr Moustache gives me some every day for food stuffs.” Mika spoke in a happy voice, obviously not knowing either of their names. The man who had used cookies as dog food was using the wrong name on purpose as part of his lie to get food. Which… now that the dog girl had thought about it… wasn’t evil at all, she had acted and played the sorry pup in the past to get something to eat when she was about to starve to death.

“Oh! Introductions! Humans do that when they first meet, don’t they?” The angel asked as she looked between the pair excitedly, her dog like ears flopping with each turn of her head. With a resolute nod she stood tall and proud; her salt covered wings spreading wide as she did. Behind her form a tail could be seen swaying. “I am Mika Gooddog! Pleased to meet you! I know Sit, Shake and Roll-over. I… I was learning dance but my family was taken…” A small wavering shiver came to her as she got to the end of her introduction. However, it returned to normal.

“Who are you? Where did you learn to make good food? Why are you so hungry?” Mika asked, her head again bouncing from one to another of the men as she asked her questions.

[Bobbie]

Chase stared at the chef before him, the counter providing the security of a barrier between them. He could feel the scrutiny of this man’s very observant eyes on him, and it would be a lie to say it didn’t make him uncomfortable. Clearly, this was a man to be cautious of, as he certainly did have a good eye and the analytical skills to back that up.

Their intent, their status, the knife-wielder’s words echoed in the thief’s mind. So he could easily see right through him. More importantly, he could see his status. Finally, someone to see his true status! That inherited from his great master Ghouil!

Chase’s gaze dropped down to the pocket watch that was slid across the counter, very much to his surprise. An apology … is that really all it takes? A quick glance toward the other participant in this three-way encounter and he could see that it pacified the girl as well.

Then it hit him. The kind notion of this chef offering a free meal seemed to hit Chase like a brick, rather than the generous gesture that it was, it dropping from the ceiling with a loud chime as the metaphorical block collided with a very hard skull.

He recognised his needs? His status… his needs. Did this man just … pity … him?

How dare he? This was a situation that Chase never thought he would ever find himself in and he steeled every muscle in his face in an attempt to remain steady while the chef crouched down to graciously fetch said offered food. He thinks I’m a beggar! A lowly, degenerate beggar! I have been handcrafted by the greatest artist to ever walk this earth, The Puppeteer himself, you fool! My very being is worth more than all the business you make in a lifetime, and you reduce my status to that of a begging scoundrel!? There was no such thing as an inside voice in Chase’s head at that moment, but his lips remained tightly sealed and his teeth pressed together to ensure his thoughts did not escape his mouth this time.

Keeping one hand hidden in his pocket, clenched into a tight fist, he raised his other hand to the pocket watch, his mechanical arm almost jittery as it contained his rage and required an unimaginable mental capacity for it not to be slammed onto the countertop.

“I insist…” he spoke through closed teeth as the corner of his right eye disobediently twitched, and his fingers slid the pocket watch back over toward the kind man who had just offered to feed both him and the woman beside him. His blood boiled as he listened to the chef’s rambling, quite angry by how pathetic he'd just made Chase seem, but more so by how accurate his analysis was. “Please.” Despite being heavily irritated, he offered a friendly smile that came out a little awkwardly as his jaw remained tense and unmoving, his top and bottom rows of teeth grinding each other in desperate attempt to control the words that threatened to seep through - but it was a smile, nonetheless.

He let go of the golden-plated mechanism on a chain and let the chef do his thing. That is, for the price of one fancy and expensive, though stolen, pocket watch, of course, not for free. Turning his attention to Mika, he looked for a distraction to hopefully prevent an attempt to return the watch once more or offer any alternative bargains.

For a man who was offered a free meal, he certainly seemed to be in a foul mood.

“I am not ‘Cookie Man’.” He blurted out, his eyes now fixed on her, scanning her from head to toe. Then his features softened, as she went on to talk about introductions – Humans? Dog ears, and is that a tail?

The next thing he heard was a list of the classic dog commands, and Chase’s eyebrows shot up. Is this a dog in a human form? How? Devil Fruit? There was no way Master Ghouil could have done this without my knowing, unless … did she escape from the lab? What an interesting specimen!

“I am Chase Guillard, or Gui, named after the great Master Ghouil.” Speaking about his master caused Chase to glow with a deep sense pride and loyalty that was as dangerously stupid as it was blindly misplaced. Throwing the name around rarely had consequence, as most people seemed to have sadly forgotten the artist, or discarded any memories of his very existence if they ever knew of him at all.

“I am hungry because …” he paused, glancing at Bassanio for just a brief moment before his pride was replaced with a downward gaze of shame and a soft, almost apologetic sigh. “Well ... I haven’t actually ... eaten much more than hardtack, cheeses and jerky in nearly a week.” It was the painful repetition of the exact words that the chef previously spoke which got him, as they were slowly and quietly uttered. They were like spears that cut straight through Chase’s soul.

He was correct on every detail in his judgement of this customer.

---

Chase: #eacce2

[Vio]

^{Bassanio #4}

---

“I insist… please,” the stranger spoke through gritted teeth. Perhaps Bass had been too harsh in his assessment — too venomous, even if unintentional, in his presentation. Once again, he looked at the pocket watch, polished and still ticking merrily as a sign of good mechanisms. Worth a pretty beri, for sure. Alas, the man’s needs were so strongly overridden by the chef’s own tenets. He just could not accept this offering, but apparently that did not matter to the angelic entity, now once again childish as if nothing had happened.

^{“If you need money,” she announced:
“Then I don’t mind using some of mine!”}

^{“I am not ‘Cookie Man’…”}

Sit, shake, and roll-over…? Family taken… Unaware of his own facial expression, Mister Rosencrantz’ eyes dropped somewhat into a solemn darkness, confusion and curiosity momentarily overwritten by a strange sense of empathy — a reminder of his own tragedy. A glimpse of looming shadows caught in the mirror imagery of soulful memories, haunting a single pinprick of light whose angelic voice called to him as it was snuffed out like a candle’s flame. For a second, he almost lost himself in the darkness, but was snapped back to reality by the rapid-fire questions of an excitable girl. Whatever remorseful frown was upon his face abated.

^{“I am Chase Guillard,” the ‘Cookie Man’ said:
“I am hungry because… Well…”}

If Bassanio could be considered a vengeful type, then he would have laughed at Gui’s words, but instead he simply nodded. His eyes lingered upon the pocket watch, still, flitting between Mika and Chase as was necessary in the flow of conversation. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not realising that he had been holding his breath as he had sunk back into memoriam.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss ‘Gooddog’, Mister Guillard,” he began, formal and respectful. “My name’s Bassanio, Rosencrantz, and I learned my trade from a young age — my father was a restaurant owner and head chef,” the cook explained, finally surrendering to the idea that Chase would not accept his offering, even if it did rub him the wrong way. With simple motions of the hand he counted what he needed from the wad of cash Mika had placed, sliding the remainder back to her, and similarly picked up the watch before pushing the dishes towards their respective consumers.

“Bon appétit,” he uttered, eyes studying the watch with an almost peculiar scrutiny. The gentle feel of it ticking in his palm reminded him of precious seconds passing, but that wasn’t what bothered him. In actuality, something else did: The item looked familiar. The colouration, the polish, and the engravings — they nagged at the back of his mind as he stowed the notes in his takings box and arranged some small change to make the difference up to Mika, not that he was sure she’d understand.

^{“Pardon my curiosity, but…,” Bass asked:
“Where did you get this, Mister Guillard…?”}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:}
<sub>Bassanio introduces himself to the newly named Mika and Chase before asking the latter about the origins of the pocket watch.

Notes: ——</sub>

---

Rosencrantz Bassanio | #add8e6
Mika | #99bbee
Chase Guillard | #eacce2
Miscellaneous [NPC] | #eeeeee | #bbbbbb | #888888 | #555555

[Kami-Gaz]

Mika sat and listened as the plates were pushed forward to the pair, it looked fantastic and smelled even better! This Bassanio Rosencrantz was an amazing cook person! He could make anything? All because he learned from a young age… humans are really amazing creatures. They are able to alter things to suit them and foods go from just salmon to this masterpiece! “Thank you Bassa-man!” Mika announced as she picked up the utensils, the wrong way around and moved to dig into the salmon dish with the gusto of a hungry dog. The entire time her tail was going a mile a minute, wagging fast and hard enough to impact on the man that sat beside her with a light thwack.

As Mr Bass asked Chaser about the watch Mika slowed her eating down as her ear twitched, flicking as she waited for the answer. The piece of the meal she had in her mouth was swallowed as her soft eyes looked over to him and locked on with intent. “Did you take it from someone?” She asked, the wagging of her tail behind the bunched up burning wings slowed to a gentle sway.

The question came but the food itself was more than enough to divert all of her attention back into the food where she quickly shoved a forkful into her mouth… it instantly set her tail off wagging with a ferocity that would make a wild animal blush. THIS WAS SO GOOD! Another fork went to the bowl and then to her mouth and after that was swallowed she giggled happily. “Mr Bassa! I love your food!”

[Bobbie]

Chase was glad that the chef accepted the pocket watch. If there was one flaw that he openly admitted to, it was his pride – but, of course, he had everything to be proud of! He watched the man’s hand fall over the device and pull it back, glanced at Mika, then back at him again with a gentle nod. “Thank you.” He replied, as he felt he could now accept the meal.

As he listened to Bassanio's account of learning the trade, Chase nodded. This, before him, was a man who must understand the dedication and responsibility that it takes to follow in the footsteps of one’s father. To not only hold onto their legacy but also drive it forward with equal passion that their art once possessed, anything less would be a disservice and a disgrace to the name. It was quite a pleasant surprise to find a like-minded individual with similar purpose, although very different specialties. Deep down, perhaps the two were not all that different, and if Chase could find even only one person who truly appreciated what it really meant to be left with such a glorious name to uphold, then maybe…

The girl’s loud voice rang through his ears, but it wasn’t enough to interrupt his internal monologue. No, what did interrupt it was the consistent thwacking of her tail that wagged with seemingly no control and smacked into him each time it swayed over onto his side. Shifting in his stool, he tried to ignore it – until the next one came, and then the next, and then another!

Passing an annoyed glance in her direction, he gestured toward her tail, “Excuse me, do you mind?” he asked as politely as he could manage. He looked at the fluffy thing, and then heard the next question that came from Bassanio.

Where did he get the pocket watch from? That was a difficult question to answer… His attention shifted back to the chef on the opposite side of the counter as he raised his eyebrows at him, “Hm?” he prompted the man to repeat his question, though in reality there was no need for it. Mika’s question was rolled out quite promptly after it, and both questions had been clearly understood.

He thought about his response for a moment. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re asking…” he mumbled, unsure of how to explain this. Of course, he did steal it… but it was more complicated than that. He had a code and rules that he followed, he wasn’t a low-life, scummy thief like the others out there. “You know… when somebody does something wrong, you have to teach them that they’ve done something wrong. That way they will learn that what they did was a bad thing and they won’t want to repeat it.” His explanation was directed toward Mika as he tried to simplify matters in a way he thought she’d comprehend more easily. “People who do bad things are reprimanded – that is, unless they are willing to change their ways.” He paused and sighed softly, “I didn’t just take that watch, it was more like confiscated in order to help somebody else improve as a human being after they did something bad.”

Finally, he turned to Bassanio with a more serious expression as he realised that the situation had the potential get ugly pretty quickly if the intricate patterns engraved on the watch were recognised and had any personal value to this man. Chase had no idea what any of it meant, he couldn’t care less either, but they were clearly of interest to the man who’d just provided him with food.

He took a large forkful into his mouth, but barely chewed it before his hungry stomach demanded the deliciously grilled salmon be sent down to it at once. “Do you recognise it? A tall man with a heavy pouch on his belt had it; heavy enough to suggest that he wouldn’t really miss this thing, if you know what I mean.” He paused to nourish his starving body with another bite. “He wore a beret with a checked pattern at the base, blonde hair in a pretty fancy French braid. Someone you know?” Chase grew more cautious of Bassanio as he blindly filled his fork with more food, ready to swallow some more, perhaps at a slower pace this time to actually appreciate the flavours properly.

"Now that I think about it..." he muttered, tucking food away into his cheek as he slowed down in his eating. "It looked a little out of place on him." he continued to chew his food. "I wonder if..." as Chase swallowed his food, he began to put more on his fork with a delighted sigh. "He actually stole it from somebody else- this is really amazing food by the way, whoever your father was who taught you all about cooking? Fantastic."  he opened a wide mouth to eagerly chomp down on more of the fillet that had as much sauce that would cling to it on it, scraped from his plate so as not to waste a single drop.

---

Chase: #eacce2

[Vio]

^{Bassanio #5}

---

“When somebody does something wrong, you have to teach them,” Mister Guillard explained, much to Bassanio’s curiosity. Was this a man who, despite his own crooked tendencies for being down on his luck, viewed the world in much the same way as he? This poisoned world, where the poor struggled to feed their families and worked themselves half to death to line the pockets of the greedy, gluttonous, sloths who sat upon their laurels. “A tall man… He wore a beret, blond hair in a fancy braid. I wonder if he actually stole it from somebody else,” Chase finalised, quickly shifting gears as he swallowed what he could of the dish presented, complimenting the chef and his paternity not just with words but with actions as well.

“Thanks, both of you,” he smiled. “It means a lot that people enjoy what I create — and there’s no greater show of that than a clean plate.” The smile was brief, however. That sullen shade came across his face anew as his eyes returned to the watch, whose ticking reminded him rather painfully of temporal constraints. He stowed it. “As for the man you claimed this from, your description matches somebody I’ve met before. Either that or it’s just a coincidence. I never got his name, but I wouldn’t be surprised if your assumption is correct,” Mister Rosencrantz stated, reminded all too much of those men.

“I prefer to keep my issues to myself, so I’ll spare you both the grittier details, but; suffice to say, that man’s profession was far from honest when I last encountered him, and I doubt that’s changed in these last few months, either,” the blond confirmed, arranging utensils for cleaning and making sure everything was as it should have been. This cart had served him well, even if it was rather primitive compared to the kitchen he had worked in, but he was in no position to complain.

He looked to Chase, then to Mika.

“Pardon my own curiosity, Miss… ‘Gooddog’,” O, how unusual that was becoming to say aloud, to the point where Bass decided that the forename was probably a better choice. “Uh– Mika. Who is this ‘Mister Moustache’ you mentioned? Is he a family friend? Your carer?” Perhaps he was being overcautious, but a little bit of paranoia for breakfast had been a staple part of his diet for a while now: Chase was forthright about his master, even showing a sense of pride when he had announced the name with such gusto. But therein lies the difference. Mika referred to the man by a feature, rather than a name…

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synposis:}
<sub>Bassanio shows some familiarity in regards to Chase’s story, before questioning Mika on a more unusual point of hers.

Notes: ——</sub>

---

Rosencrantz Bassanio | #add8e6
Mika | #99bbee
Chase Guillard | #eacce2
Miscellaneous [NPC] | #eeeeee | #bbbbbb | #888888 | #555555