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The cigarette butt was bitten clean through. The engineer's face a scowl of rage, his hands trembling as he saw the scalpel plunge into the chest of the doctor that only a few days back had saved his life after the severe injuries fighting the bizarre violinist. Hand on his gun, the engineer felt his hands grow beads of sweat as they shook uncontrollably. Trying to regain control of his hand, taking deep breaths as he averted his face from the bloody frenzy that unfolded in the water, Rhynn caught a glimpse of his past, and his motivation for all of this.

"Calm yourself! You have bigger fish to fry! Nothing will come of killing him. He is your ticket to HIM, after all! Zan wouldn't have made it in the Grand Line anyway!" Rhynn closed his fists, teeth clenched, weighing his options until Locke spoke up. He envisioned the blade of the bloodthirsty captain making another victim out of him... just to prove a point.

Rhynn stepped forth and clasped his hand over Locke's mouth and dragged him back. Offering Takashi a measured glance as he walked off. Leaning in to Locke he whispered "Not now. A time and place for everything..." Rhynn's fingers dug into Locke's cheek, who seemed a little put off by the whole scene. Rhynn let him go and felt a need to throw up.

A friend had been murdererd right in front of him... and he accepted it.

Breathing heavily, Kali lowers the cleaver and mops cool sweat from her brow with blood soaked hands. For several hours the mask she has made of the foul copper smelling liquid has concealed the progression of the fever that burns inside her, affecting her strength, and now, small tremors in her muscles. The human mouth is home to several bacteria and enzymes meant to aide in digestion before foods reach the stomach, and they are most likely to cause one to fall ill when bitten. But beyond that, in her case, she had shared blood with the feral Chainer, who did not strike her as one who was overly concerned with his health. Indeed, it is not hard to imagine that the man is host to any number of blood born or sexually transmitted diseases. A certain chill crawls down and visually bows her spine when a icy drop of sweat rolls between her breasts. Unable to disrobe, inspect, and disinfect, she, in her growing delirium has begun to believe that the wounds have already begun to rot, and the heat and pain that radiates from them are accompanied by foul smelling pus.

Though struggling, Kali manages to lift the large knife once again, but a large fist closing around her wrist arrests further movement. Visibly shaken, turns slowly to find Vladimir's seemingly permanently placid face at the other end of his meaty fist. With a practiced turn of his wrist Kali's is strained painfully, so much so that the cleaver drops from her already trembling grip. Had she the presence of mind... But all protest is for naught. Kali's mind, swimming with delirium, is no longer capable of making split second rational decisions, instead, it takes her quite a few moments to process the former location of the kit the stone faced man had given her and his exact distance from her. The heavy apron would also prove a challenge. She became more aware of its weight on her shoulders with each passing minute, and the length and area it covered. Very little damage could be done to the rude sheath of hide despite the sharpness of the rudimentary weapons at her disposal. Slashing damage only her mind seethes before allowing her body to go limp in his grip.

"What is it now," she demands, voice clearly straining to display its normal seditious intonation.

The large man appears to smile, though his lips do not much more than twitch when he, as if magically, produces a young boy. "You cut," he orders in his heavily accented and broken speech, emphasizing his ill will by dragging his thumb across his throat in a deadly gesture.

Kali spares a glance at the boy. His ashen blonde hair, thick with sea salt, filth and matted besides, is vaguely familiar. There were very few children aboard the trade ship, apprentices all. They were hired to train from the captain and his officers, it seemed, but were treated as pets and sent to expedite the completion of minor errands to inspire a sense of purpose. Kali's recollection of this particular boy comes surprisingly quick, as he was most often put to use scrubbing the deck with his snotted nose with large, sad eyes the color of the sea at dusk. His general incompetence, much akin to George's, earned him such duties, but it could not be blamed on the boy alone, rather the idiot who had hired an infant with a complete lack of basic nautical skills.

"No," Kali refuses, shaking her head for emphasis. "I will not."

The faint smile that tugged at the large man's lips grows into something almost human. Almost, but for the complete lack of emotion in those cold gray eyes. "You die," Vladimir pronounces happily, and then shoves the child at her.

Kali's mind races, but her vision slows. Frame by disjointed frame her body, growing impossibly heavy in that fragment of time, falls foreword over the child as Vladimir thrusts a blade at her. Weak though she may be, the butcher displays no talent for blades other than wielding them as blunt tools, and his wholly amateur attack not only misses, but completely unbalances his already awkward mass. Shoving the child out of the way, Kali recovers the cleaver, and, sliding passed the stumbling butcher, wielding the blade in both hands, drives the blunt edge down on the base of his skull. The butcher, having tripped on the very chain he secured around her ankle, falls silently on the slick tile floor where he remains, completely still. The child, bracing himself against the adjacent work area, opens his mouth as if to cry out, but no sound escapes his lips.

"Of course, a mute," Kali rasps dryly, doubling over. A wave of nausea rolls her belly, forcing her to one knee, panting and grasping at air. The stench of death is overwhelming now, and beyond it, the damp earth sweetly beckons her to her grave. She laughs softly, without mirth, but the hollow sound is interrupted with the wet of vomit that splashes the butcher's immobile legs. "Gods, not now," she gasps as a display of brilliant colors eats away at her vision.

Last edited by The Ed Monster (2007-08-10 07:31:41)

Rhynn squinted through the rain, trying to make out some coherent image of the tapestry of shadows that was the horizon, where Cold Harbor laid in wait. Then, as a stroke of lightning hit the sea barely a hundred yards off, he felt a smirk creep across his face. Returning to the bag he carried onto deck, he produces several bundles, handing one to the shipwright.

"Locke. I prepared some surprises for the rabble we will likely be fighting here. And since you are familiar with architecture, I figured you would be able to use these." unfurling the pack, Locke discovered several cylinders with spikes on each end, connected in pairs. "How they work-" Rhynn started, picking one up "is that you twist them like so-" clasping the cylinder like a handle, turning in opposite directions, making them split in two with a slight protest of metal scraping against metal, revealing a thin wire on a miniature pulley. "Drag them the distance you wish them to cover, up to ten feet. Make sure the wire is tight before you hit this button-" the engineer rolled it over in his hand, revealing a small circular button on the side "and that is that. Now you have made a tripwire bomb. This side blows up, the other one merely serves as anchorpoint."

"There is another use for it, which I am sure you will find just as interesting: If you do not anchor the other half, you can use it as a timer, and make it a regular time-bomb, where the length of the wire serves as a fuse. One second for every inch of wire drawn out. And since the explosion is directional, you can cause some structural damage with it, if applied correctly. And with you being the shipwright, I figure you would be able to figure out what a construct's weak point would be." the grizzled engineer gave the shipwright a mischievous wink and a pat on the shoulder. "I expect to get whatever is unused back, so don't go and die on me, you hear!"

With that, Rhynn started handing out a set of flares to each member. "I intend to find a position to cover you guys as you infiltrate. Green flare means mission success. Whomever finds Vahn fires it, and we get the hell out. Red flare means Back-Up. Fire it whenever you find yourself outnumbered, and the rest will know of your predicament. I will try to find a spot to provide sniper-fire." Rhynn patted his bag to indicate the presence of said rifle.

"Anyone else who needs a gun, bomb or similar?"

The anchor had been set and the wind howled as the unnamed ship, sailed by a group of unnamed pirates, seemingly fought hard to stay steady on the breaking waves. Rain spat in the crew's faces as preparations were made for their mission, thunder booming every so often. Their ship was manuevered into a tiny cove that its captain had decided was the best place to strike from, outside of the main entrance, which his engineer and fellow ex-marine had to strongly recommended against for a multitude of reasons. As Rhynn finished handing out the flares he had explained earlier, as well as a few extra pieces for some of the other members, he turned to an impatient Takashi and gave a lazy salute in his direction.
     "All set for Operation: Get Taka-chan's Boy Toy Back," he jested before flicking a damp butt over the railing. Takashi sneered and folded his arms.
     "That little shit is gonna be more sorry we came to rescue him. I bet he'll wish he could've stayed in this hell-hole after I get done with him," the ex-marine wiped the soaked hair from his forehead and looked at the rag-tag group before him. "Find the brat and come back here as soon as you do. If he's already dead, bring back the body; I'll make sure it has a proper funeral..." he said with a hint of disgust. The others shifted uneasily.
     "The boy will be fine, especially with Zan to patch him up." Misa spoke up unexpectedly. Locke looked away and Rhynn suddenly left to drop the rope ladder as Takashi couldn't help but smile evilly.
     "Oh, of course!" his grin was becoming a bit too obvious now and had Misa not been blind, she would have suspected more than an odd tone of voice.

Takashi jumped up onto the railing and stared into the ruins of Cold Harbor, quickly imagining all the possible places they would keep the boy. The largest compounds were the best bets, seeing how the other buildings were not much more than standing rubble, but there were two... narrowing his chances to 50%. He finally decided on one and cleared his throat.
     "Listen up," he spoke over the rain yet facing away from his crew. His booming voice still as clear and bossy as usual. "we're here because Vahn was dumb enough to get captured by some second-rate pirates. Nonetheless, our mission is to save the stupid fucker and bring him back. So, do NOT come back to this ship unless Vahn Renzo is with you. Do you understand?" As soon as he finished, the thunder boomed and cackled into the harsh pitter-patter of the rain. The crew, outside of Rhynn, looked to eachother. Was he serious or just trying to scare them? "Now stop wastin' your damn time and find the kid!!" With that, Captain Ragnarok jumped off the ship and was the first to set foot in enemy territory, with a heavy clunk of course. Rhynn called out over the side in a panic.
     "Takashi!? Wait, no! The plan wasn't--!!" He then took off hastily in a set direction, brandishing his trusty Halbred in both hands. "Damn, this may mess things up a bit. The teams are uneven now so we'll have to do some readjusting..."
     "I'd feel bad for whoever was paired with that ogre." Khyte joked to Misa.
     "It was you." Rhynn answered bluntly and the cook swallowed hard.

After some quick calculations, Rhynn determined the best plan of action for the crew's safety along with the greatest chance of success for the mission.
     "Alright, since our captain decided to run off prematurely, we don't have much time for making plans; I'm sure the enemy will be alerted of an outside presence shortly. So," he said as he multi-tasked with checking his supplies and ammo. "Locke, I'm entrusting you with the girls' safety as you search for Vahn together. Do NOT let any harm come unto them but don't forget what we're here to do, got it?" Locke blinked twice through dark shades but nodded eventually.
     "...Affirmative."
     "Ladies? Any questions?" Both shook their heads. They didn't want to cause any problems in this situation and besides, the plan seemed fine to begin with.
     "And me?" an unfamiliar voice came from nearby. Rhynn turned to see the well-dressed fellow from earlier who had somehow navigated the ship perfectly through such horrible conditions. In his hand was a glass of merlot, from where was beyond the engineer since he had personally finished the last of it earlier, which he swished around gently. Rain droplets slid down its curved exterior one after another.
     "What about you? You're not part of this crew so I have no business ordering you around." Rhynn stated.
     "Very true, but why not make use of my fighting abilities?" the one called Nathan edged on. "I'm fairly sure you could use the help."
     "We don't know you, kid. Sure, you saved our ship without being asked, but we have no reason to trust you. We don't know you're agenda or why you are here. Pretty damn mysterious is all that you are. Hell! You could be here to kill Vahn!" Rhynn's brain started working out various possibilites.
     "I'm not." The crew turned to look at Nathan.
     "How do we know that?" The crew returned their eyes to Rhynn.
     "If anything I'm interested in his fighting abilities-- nay, all of this crew's fighting abilities. Not any small group of people would just come to Cold Harbor for a single boy. You must be extremely strong or completely mad." Lightning struck again and there was silence. Rhynn tried to read this stranger's thoughts but it seemed fruitless and it was obvious he knew something about the enemy they were going against. After a moment of further planning, he spoke again.
     "Fine. Follow that fool of our captain. If anything, he'll be bringing the most attention to himself," Nathan grew an unseen grin. "and I don't trust you with the girls." Nathan began walking towards him as Locke pointed to himself for being forgotten, deciding against saying any words.
     "Very well," Nathan smiled. "and good luck. I hope to see all of your faces later on." With that he swiftly hopped overboard and followed the same route as their captain.

     "What a creep-o." Khyte commented.
     "Very strange indeed." Misa added.
     "Mmm." Locke agreed.
     "So, what now, Rhy--?" Khyte stopped as she noticed the disappearance of Rhynn. "Wh-Where did Rhynn go!??" She exclaimed as she looked around frantically.
     "There." Locke spoke calmly, pointing to a nearby cliffside. Khyte's eyes followed his finger to a figure, now running along the giant, natural cliff that guarded the ruined harbor town like a wall, holding that encased sniper rifle Rhynn was showing off.
     "He has his business to take care of, as do we." Misa chimed in, holding her hand out. "I hate to be a bother but can you lead me to the rope ladder?" Khyte could only look at her oddly as Locke did as was asked. How could she be so calm in a time like this? ...Well, they had gotten fairly well-planned orders, powerful equipment and were here to save their friend. She would need to buck up and show her crew that she was as worthy a member as the others. She would prove herself to them and help rescue Diavolo!

As she followed the others to the ladder, a thought came to mind.
     "Hey guys? What is Zan doing now?" Misa's attention piqued as she began her descent. Locke, who was helping her down the first steps turned to her quickly. Suddenly he spoke, the words almost tripping over eachother.
     "R-Rhynn told me to tell you that... that Z-Zan is to stay and guard the ship." Khyte looked at him as he pocketed his hands. This was no lie, per se; Rhynn HAD told him to tell the girls this if they asked. But he wasn't telling them the entire truth either. Khyte had never seen Locke act that way but shrugged it off. They were about to do something rather crazy afterall.
     "Alright, if you say so." She then followed Misa down the ladder.

Locke took a deep breath of relief and hurriedly made his way down as well. He had been given orders to not let ANY harm come to these girls and who knew how many sharp rocks there could be at the bottom of this shaky ladder.

Last edited by Cap'n Jefu (2007-09-30 11:58:38)

George stands motionless on the deck, transfixed. The animation of the crew in response to the promise of the impending battle is lost to him. His broad hand grips the hilt of his scimitar solidly, muscles stretched taut beneath his ebony flesh, straining to realize their potential, but the large man remains utterly still. Violent thoughts like a squall flood the definition of strategy. One image is clear, that of the worn rook concealed in his purse. The fine details of each injury the piece had sustained in its long life stirred on his fingertips, drawing his attention to the bands on his wrists. The quality of the gold was unmatched and the fit impeccable, but they, like their match around his ankles, were more than a pleasant decoration for his mistress, they were the symbol of his situation. Pinned by his arm face down in a pool of blood, he kissed her blade and swore to obey.  In exchange for his life, he became as a tool at her disposal, advanced blindly in accordance to her will.

The foul smelling officer barks orders, and the ship comes to an abrupt halt, and still George stands. The crew, exhibiting an unusual amount of camaraderie and vigor leaps from the deck to engage themselves in the active pursuit of their captured mate. George finds  himself moving foreword, and, drawing his sword, rushes down the gang plank and into the fray. Blood falls like rain, his victims last cries like thunder. He moves alone through the din, cutting down all who approach, but he is blind to all but her. Her sapphire eyes glittering like living flame with that same slow smile; her hands, delicately painted, reaching for her cup; her nude form bathed in blood and scattered gore, perfect breasts heaving with wicked laughter.  He would possess her.

***

A small boy child of no more than 4 years runs from waves little more than foam that lick at his tiny feet, screeching and laughing merrily. In his chubby grip is a crude model of a clipper with sodden sails from the many times the treasured toy has been immersed. A young girl sits in the sand a few feet away swathed in a pretty pink print. The legs stretched out before her on the sand are dark and awkward, but strong. Giggling softly, she points her dainty toes and kicks a spray of warm white sand towards the sky. The hands around  her tiny waist are knobby and calloused besides, thick with the work she has taken upon herself to keep this little creature. Her ashen hair is little more than a collection of rude tangles that lays in thick plaits down her back, crusted with salt. Her nostrils are thick with the sea in the afternoon, when the sun at its brightest draws out the scents of the water and the sand. Some distance away the seabirds feast on the remains of the meal the pair was given, which keeps the disturbance of their angry cries at bay on this idyllic day.

Silence. The girl looks up from her reflection, suddenly alert to the lack of sound coming from the boy child and finds him staring fast at a ship upon the horizon. His toy bobs in a gentle tide, slowly drifting to and fro. After a moment, his round arms raise like his voice to squeal in joy at the impending arrival. Screaming with delight, he rushes into her arms, clasps her narrow waist and beams up upon her like the sun. She smoothes his hair, the color and texture of straw, away from his face and caresses his cheek, and her fingers come away sticky with blood. That child, once a beacon of light, now lay broken in her arms, his life the only warmth in her limbs. His breathing is labored, blood pouring from his mouth and bubbling in his nostrils, staining her plain white smock. He shutters violently and dies in her arms, and Kali, formerly protesting the beating with her tears, stills. Rage burns in her eyes, trembles in her bloody hands, but the curse screaming in her mind does not escape her crimson lips.

Last edited by The Ed Monster (2008-01-07 10:03:25)

Mudded streets full of broken men and shattered bottles as far as Nathan could see. The man stood under a partially destroyed overhanging of one of the buildings and gazed down at a cheap beer bottle broken in half. Raindrops falling from the stone above continuously shattering his reflection in the alcohol now ruined with dirty water. He had lost Takashi Ragnerok and worse yet the man ahead had killed every possible source of entertainment; Nathan was bored. The happiness he found...navigating a terrible storm, honing his skills at a slingshot maneuver within a whirlpool steadily intensified by a squall, finding a new playmate in Manko, even if he did run at the last minute, and finding an interesting guide in Ragnerok...fading as he stood there with no immediate entertainment. Still Nathan could not help but think this: Takashi Ragnerok was indeed a powerful man. On the garbage laden streets Nathan could see long slashes running from the shoulder to torso of some victims and deep gashes down the already mangled faces of others. There were women as well. Bloody holes drilling in various areas of the body of women who lay atop of men who's throats sported a second gapping mouth. Others had bloodied skulls, their bodies slumped against walls trailing blood down from a single crimson splatter. The rain was already beginning to wash away the bloody mess leaving only the bodies to attest to the slaughter. Not a single soul could be found. No noise save the sound of ra-

A whimper.

Nathan's attention slowly pulled away from his ruminative state. The sound was coming from behind him; the whimper giving way to tears the woman in the shadows realized she had given herself away. A swift creature perhaps Nathan thought, to have escaped the men of this island.
"Excuse me, Miss." Nathan's training kicking in once more, "Which direction did the killer run?"
The woman hesitated, obviously this was the first time in a long, long time a man, or any human being for that matter, had spoken so kindly towards her. "A-Are y-you going to h-help me...?" She asked the question without much hope but just enough that it betrayed her. She crawled forward with dull eyes just coming barely coming back to life, like a small pale glint off in the distance. Her body was barely clothed with rags but she had long given up on attempting to hide anything further. Her body was bruised and her spirit was obviously broken. The only thing keeping her up was the survival instinct innate in all living beings; the hope springing from the feeling of hitting rock bottom but not being there long quite long enough. Nathan did not reply.
"Please..." the woman was cautiously moved forward, raising from her knees and as if she just realizing she was with a man her bloody hand reached up to cover up more of breast, "Please...say something...please answer me..."
Nathan smiled, "Of course. Only tell me where Takashi Ragnerok has gone."
The girl eyes widened unbelievingly but the stranger's smile was just enough to fool her and she blurted "Towards the citadel! Please! Oh my God! Please Take Me Away From Here! SAVE ME!"
Nathan nodded but as he moved forward he heard some laughter behind him. The aristocrat turned around and noticed five men, all with swords stalking him. They moved forward upon being discovered and brandished their blades with smiles of the insane.
"Didya 'ear that boys? She thinks prince charmin's come to save 'er." The ugliest one with the biggest sword laughed as he advanced with his four lackeys.
"Oh please~ Save me~" another mocked.

Four men with blades...obviously just men Takashi had missed; most likely passed out in some obscure corner laying in a pool of their own bile. Nathan's eyes quickly scanned the area for possible escape routes and found several but he could cover them all.
"Hey whore," the leader called, "after this I'll be expecting you."
The woman's eyes glanced towards the man before her, "Please...help me..."

Four of the men sprang forward without warning and quickly circled and unmoving Nathan. One of them pushed the already bruised woman into a wall before taking up a stance behind his opponent. Nathan did not move a muscle. They all laughed.
"Hey look boss. He's scared shitless. He can't even move!"
The one who spoke rushed forward and made to cut Nathan; a faint Nathan did not fall for. Soon they all began doing it; a faint to from the left; a faint from ahead; from the right; left again; this time from behind; a blade entering the peripheral vision; finally another from the front and the left while a real attack came from behind; Nathan moved like lightening. He seized the attacking man's hand and with a step back flung him into the blade of the man feigning in front of him. Startled the man let go of the sword and the stabbed attacker fell to the ground to join the ranks of the dead.

"YOU BASTARD!" one cried and angrily swung his sword for an over head attack. He was too slow. Nathan grabbed the man from his right and switched places with him. The man died before he could even realize his friend had killed him. By this time first man from the front had regained his mind and snatched the sword of the man he had killed. He swung wildly obviously with no formal training. Nathan redirected his movements towards the still stunned man on the left. A third victim was thus produced. The headless body fell to the ground and with no one there to support him the man with a broadsword embedded in his skull fell atop him. Not wasting any time, Nathan finished the last of the four off. A sickening crack noise was produced as Nathan kept the blade moving and broke the fourth assailant's arm as the blade bite into his neck. Sputtering incoherently the man fell grasping desperately with his one good arm until the sputtering died down.

Only one left. The man gapped, wide-eyed and unbelieving as Nathan picked up stray steel and inspected it. When he was done he looked up to face his final opponent who had finally realized he was soon join his fellows. He broke into a run towards the ruins, dropping his sword in his panic. But running was something Nathan never allowed. Concede if you wish. Admit defeat but finish the fight.

Nathan sprang with astonishing speed and before the man took more than five steps he fell in a pool of his own blood.

The victor dropped the sword on top of the body and walked back towards the stunned woman. Her eyes seemed to have a little bit more life in them. Her jaw was open but as Nathan stood before her with a hand proffered in shadows and blood she managed to stand and stutter a simple "thank you."
"No need." Nathan promptly replied, "Now, as for the matter of Mr. Ragnerok..."
This woman could prove useful after all

Last edited by Kiyoshi (2008-04-19 20:43:43)