Post by cowboyjotaro on Jul 30, 2023 20:44:05 GMT -5
Flick, flick. Flick, flick. The noise of François’ lighter opening and closing reverberated through the chamber of his ship. Outside, the telltale creaking of the ship and seafoam splattering above deck echoed through the wooden surface down to the Marine Captain’s temporary quarters. The metronomic pitter-patter of rain like the scurrying footsteps of tiny mice provided a rhythmic backdrop to his introspective thoughts.
He was no writer: but the often rainy landscapes of Crysiland seemed to the sunglasses wearing officer - refusing to adapt to his climate, or perhaps masking dirty looks - to be a metaphor. If there was one enemy of his explosive Devil Fruit ability, it was the onslaught of precipitation and moisture. Much like that rain dampening his abilities, he felt as though he were wasting his potential, dampened instead by painful memories and a lack of self-esteem.
Officially, François was on a mission to Crysiland to try and sniff out any spies and to do some training. In actuality, the still-fresh memory of his uncle’s frenetic, enraged tirade rang through his head. “Maybe seeing the hoplites and your comrades training with aplomb will stir something up in that lazy body of yours! Some fighting spirit wouldn’t do you any harm.”
The fervent yells of various sailors changed tempo, something which indicated to François that they must be docking. Indeed, soon the ship’s speed slowed until it came to a halt, with the swaying back and forth in the current its only movement. The Marine Captain once again checked the notepad in his pocket where he had scribbled his orders.
“The Mount” was where he would find quarters to stay in and access to a private courtyard for training. He sighed and made his first steps onto the island, the winds blowing back the coat marked Justice behind him. Flick, flick. No luck. His lighter wasn’t cooperating.
“Sir, this way please. Some hoplites will be along to escort us soon.” François nodded, and began to follow.
He was no writer: but the often rainy landscapes of Crysiland seemed to the sunglasses wearing officer - refusing to adapt to his climate, or perhaps masking dirty looks - to be a metaphor. If there was one enemy of his explosive Devil Fruit ability, it was the onslaught of precipitation and moisture. Much like that rain dampening his abilities, he felt as though he were wasting his potential, dampened instead by painful memories and a lack of self-esteem.
Officially, François was on a mission to Crysiland to try and sniff out any spies and to do some training. In actuality, the still-fresh memory of his uncle’s frenetic, enraged tirade rang through his head. “Maybe seeing the hoplites and your comrades training with aplomb will stir something up in that lazy body of yours! Some fighting spirit wouldn’t do you any harm.”
The fervent yells of various sailors changed tempo, something which indicated to François that they must be docking. Indeed, soon the ship’s speed slowed until it came to a halt, with the swaying back and forth in the current its only movement. The Marine Captain once again checked the notepad in his pocket where he had scribbled his orders.
“The Mount” was where he would find quarters to stay in and access to a private courtyard for training. He sighed and made his first steps onto the island, the winds blowing back the coat marked Justice behind him. Flick, flick. No luck. His lighter wasn’t cooperating.
“Sir, this way please. Some hoplites will be along to escort us soon.” François nodded, and began to follow.
