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[Abandoned] [Episode] Pickpocket Trouble Empty [Abandoned] [Episode] Pickpocket Trouble

This post has in-line assessment comments.Mon Nov 11, 2019 4:10 am
With the whole ugly business of being conscripted into CP9, on top of stressful... business ventures, some annual leave was long overdue and he took advantage of it, spending several weeks on the seas. The waves clashing against the wood was surprisingly peaceful, as he'd previously be a bit unnerved by the sea... the idea of drowning, being a devil fruit user tends to leave one a bit on edge around the waters. He dined himself away and every day had an appetite that knew almost no bounds. The ship had to restock at a few other islands along the way to his main destination.

Water Seven, a beautiful place and a wonder of science to a man like Silas. The ship keeping itself afloat in one place with propellers? He could appreciate the ambition of whoever thought up that idea. If they were still alive, he would shake their hand, make a deal for their schematics if possible, and probably make something in great size himself. Silas is a successful businessman, but his company isn't that worldwide unfortunately to the point he can just waste funds on such an ambitious project, as much as he liked the idea.

His ship was a welcome sight to the docks, the authorities already knew who it was and Silas was welcomed like royalty to the entrance of Water Seven. He sported a different outfit, a white suit with a black undershirt, contrasted by the white tie. The majority of Silas' company crew stayed onboard the Iron Victory, while a few members went off to do their own things. If Silas were strict, he'd yell at them to get back on board but as he's taking a break, he imagined a few members taking some leave as well wouldn't be an issue.

As Silas walked into Water Seven with an escort provided by Water Seven, the man seemed to be quite nosy in why Silas was here. "Any business plans? looking at the ships again like the previous visits?" but Silas simply shook his head, "Just a vacation, I'm due for one." he'd calmly say. The man saw it with suspicion, but he couldn't really push the matter. Along the way, Silas pushed into a brown-coated man, as that's all Silas' eye at the corner could see. "Apolog-" but before he knew it, the man had seemingly disappeared.

Patting himself off and pouting at the rudeness, he simply moved along. They arrived at the inn that Silas would stay at for his time in Water Seven. When Silas went into his pockets, it was only met with confusion as his beli wasn't there. "Oh dearie me, just a second." Silas politely said, both of his hands invested now into finding something in his pockets. "Why is it not there? I'm very sure that I-" but then it occurred to him. The brown-coated man from earlier.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" Silas said to his escort, but it would be more than a moment, as Silas would have to go back towards the direction that he brushed against the brown-coated man at. It turns out that the spot is now a massive walking crowd, too many colors of apparel and not enough vision to see who the brown-coated man is. "... Well, this is great." this wasn't how he planned to have the start of his vacation, but he isn't going to have one without his money back.

Quest Details:
made by kiwii at btn!

[Abandoned] [Episode] Pickpocket Trouble Empty Re: [Abandoned] [Episode] Pickpocket Trouble

This post has in-line assessment comments.Wed Nov 20, 2019 1:27 am

Don't cause a scene~!

The flourishing markets of Water 7 were brimming with life and a herd of runaway multi-coloured balloons sprang away from a nearby vendor. The balloons rode a refreshing breeze wafting from the network of canals cutting through the floating city and it simultaneously took the edge off the blazing sun diligently scrutinising the activity below.

Amid the many merchants peddling wares was a young man sitting in a corner tucked quietly away from the main attractions of the bustling crowd. Unlike the loud harping from his competition, this man was seated with air of serene tranquility upon a carpet with loose threads fraying the edges and an array of objects were scattered in no particular system before him. Accompanying him were two men, one of which was Axlow Becker, a fishman who often dressed with the intent to challenge fashion norms.

His outfit today consisted of a silk tunic loosely fitting his muscular form and he tucked the edges into a pair of brown cargo shorts with leather tassels hanging from a golden belt. The tunic was a patchwork of squares and within each section was a circle depicting a different emotion. Unusual for him, Becker wore few jewelry on this day and his green curls appeared messier than usual. His expression was an exact replica of the green frown portrayed on his left rib and his brows were furrowed like two angry dark clouds over his pale blue eyes.

Still, despite the lack of “usual” accessories, many who were unfamiliar Becker would still marvel at the complete festival of adornments decorating his body. With the soles of his feet bare, he wore four silver bracelets on each of his limbs, each with a delicate chain attached to black rings on his thumbs and big toes. Hanging from each of his earlobes were enormous earrings shaped like domed cages with tiny blue ceramic doves perched inside.

More piercings decorated his colourfully painted face: three silver studs lining his left eyebrow, a ring pinching his lower lip, a purple teardrop painted under his right eye and he wore yellow lipstick on his upper lip to contrast the green on his lower lip. If it weren’t for the perpetual scowl gracing his features, his crude way of sitting with his legs crossed, his cheek rested in his left palm and the fingers on his right hand drumming his knee impatiently, the Betta fishman would have easily passed for a clown.

The source of his displeasure could almost always be traced back to a single individual: his captain and also the subject of his begrudging loyalty. Alice B. Ronx sat with a listless expression turned up to bask in the midday sun and his knees were pulled close to his chest. Admittedly, Ronx did his own part in attracting attention with his unruly blonde hair, feminine features and, unlike his fashionable companion, he dressed in a more refined manner that was far classier and held a dignified touch.

With a crisp pinstripe shirt accompanied by a fitted black vest and an elegant mantle bundling around his shoulders, many confused eyes looked to the young princely character with a question sitting upon lips. It was an extraordinary sight to witness such an individual mingling with the hustle and bustle of the common folk, but owing to the uncanny combination of himself and his two companions, his corner attracted few customers.

“I wonder when our first customer will come,” murmured Ronx sleepily, his light lashes brushing his high cheekbones as he rocked lazily.

“This is a waste of time,”
grumbled Becker, waving a hand at the cart stacked high with the prince’s wares parked beside them. “No one is interested in this rubbish.”

“It’s not rubbish,” said Ronx, though there was no anger in his voice.

“I’m not calling it treasure,” replied Becker, turning his attention to inspect his perfectly aligned and painted nails.

“It’s my treasure!” insisted the blonde. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he bounced fervidly to his feet. “Hey, thief!”

The abrupt burst of animation from the young man was so unexpected, Becker toppled gracelessly to his side and even the crowd scattered in surprise. His outburst was met with confusion at first, before eyes turned to follow his and before long, the crowd parted to reveal an individual racing away.

“Ronx, hold on!” cried out Becker.

The fishman’s appeal was met with little success and the revolutionary was already darting away from their pathetic stall, leaving behind all his precious wares and so-called treasures. Fumbling to his feet, Becker first glanced to his captain, then to the abandoned possessions before back to his captain’s form disappearing further and further in the distance.

“Dammit!” he snapped.

Swiftly, Becker grabbed the corners of the carpet they had been sitting on before swinging it and its wrapped-up items onto Ronx’s mountainous cart. He then snatched up the cart’s handle with paint flecking from its exterior and pushed through the crowd, tugging his hopeless captain’s “treasures” behind him.

cait at btn

Kurotane (Black Seed)
Name : Acacia
Epithet : "Black Seed" ("Kurotane")
Age : 27
Height : 8'5" / 257 cm
Weight : 351 lbs / 159 kg
Species : Human
Faction : New Revolutionary Army
Devil Fruit : Mochi Mochi no Mi
Bounty : [ber=r] 250,000,000
Balance : [ber] 582,800,000
Posts : 120

[Abandoned] [Episode] Pickpocket Trouble Empty Re: [Abandoned] [Episode] Pickpocket Trouble

This post has in-line assessment comments.Sun Dec 01, 2019 7:18 pm
A few days/weeks ago (I've lost track...)

An uncomfortable silence settled on the deck of the wandering galleon belonging to a notorious crew of miscreants. The few lanterns alit on the Wonderland Hatch dressed it like a swarm of fireflies flying across the night sea.

Under a calm, starry sky, the newly named first mate of the Bonbon X Candies stood in a trance. His bare chest was swimming in sweat. The many scars on his torso twitched and contorted as his ribs rose and fell with every deep breath. The single stitched-up gash on his back stretched from his left hip to his right shoulder. If one were to look at him from behind, one might think he had been cut in two and sewn back together. This very thought perhaps crossed the mind of a soundless mink approaching him.

A caress of the cold breeze lifted and fluffed the hairs of the mink's black mane. His golden peepers glowed like portals to another dimension. But, his proximity did not break the human's trance.

The feline mink, Rozene, seated himself on the smooth wooden floor near the first mate and observed. The sweat bathing the man contradicted the chilling wind he faced. He remained balanced and unmoving against the ocean's turbulence.

The first mate's scarlet eyes glowed nearly as bright as the beast's, and they were fixed onto the abyss the ship's bow pierced through. He held a blade over his head and was poised to strike. But, the swordsman had maintained this posture for nearly an hour.

Rozene waited patiently, letting the rhythmic sounds of the ropes stretching and the sails fluttering symphonise with his breaths. After the ship had sung many songs in the night, the air on the deck shifted abruptly. The swordsman's pupils expanded. Within the blink of an eye, the man swung his sword down quieter than a ghost. There was no shockwave birthed by the swing. The mink's sharp ears could not even detect the sword cutting the air.

The first mate sighed and relaxed. He swept his spiky hair back and turned to the spectator while sheathing his katana. "You've been watching me train every night like a hawk." He swiped a towel hanging over a railing and patted himself with it.

"I am trying to understand this exercise. I first thought it was merely image training. But, there is something more I cannot put my claw on." The mink rumbled ponderously.

The man half-smiled and only delivered an unnecessarily mysterious response. "Someone once taught me the most crucial step in learning how to cut anything - it's to learn how to cut nothing."

Without any clarifications, the swordsman left the lion-mink to study the meaning behind the statement.

At the moment...

Acacia idled a few feet removed from the merchant of relics and the wearer of oddities. The cheerfulness of the water city and the "will they or won't they" bickering of his two crewmates was putting a damper on his attempted nap.

He spied three brown-haired little monkeys (for clarification - these were just ordinary human kids) trying to drag their mother to the stall of "rubbish". Unfortunately for the monkeys and the seller of said rubbish, the matron refused to grace them with her patronage.

Acacia blindly fondled the locket hanging off the heavy chain around his neck. An index finger glided over the contours of the single chrome wing engraved upon it. It was a warm day, but Acacia had dressed appropriately for the weather. He wore a baby blue t-shirt with the words "Born to die" printed on the chest in an edgy font. He paired the casual top with khaki cargo shorts with folded cuffs and a pair of leather flip-flops.

He sceptically analysed each passer-by with a resting glower wrinkling his dark brows - an unpleasant habit formed through his time spent alone on the run. Not distracted by his associates' squabble, he noticed the ragged punk in a brown coat who plucked a piece of "treasure" from his captain's "hoard".

He snorted when their fishman navigator fumbled and wrestled against his own clumsiness in an attempt to chase after their beloved captain. From how Becker gathered up their wares, Acacia imagined the blue-skinned male had forgotten he was even here. Acacia did not mind. He cleared his throat as he rose to draw his panicked crewmate's attention.

"Relax. They're not going anywhere," he said. Becker could not see the source of Acacia's confidence until he properly scanned the tall male. Acacia's fingers twirled and stretched. Two strings of thick, green mochi extended from him to unknown endpoints. Acacia sighed as these elastic strings turned obsidian and stiffened. A loud gasp resounded from a distant crowd, and sharp ears would've heard a thud (or maybe two).

Acacia wound the mochi back into him, dragging the victims of his sticky pursuit.

"Couldn't you have stopped them before I packed everything up?" Becker's dirty glare shot through him like a lance, but he shrugged it off. "It's not my fault you forgot I was here." The fishman stomped and swore bloody murder under his breath.

By the time Acacia had reeled in the fish on his lines, he (or they, if the captain did not somehow break free) would be painted with scuffs and scratches.

Acacia walked down to the thief one measured sinister step at a time and then squatted beside him. Pressing the butt of his lavender scabbard into the man's panting chest, he whispered ominously. "I've heard talk of pickpockets and shoplifters ganging up in these parts. Say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" A Chesire cat's grin—coupled with his petrifying bloody irises—forced the crook to swallow a lump bigger than his round nose.

"I--I-- I work for some really powerful people! You don't wanna mess with us!" The pathetic threats of the mule only served to excite the bored swordsman. "Oh? Is that right? Why don't you invite them over for a party then? Our captain loves meeting new people. I'm sure we'll all get along splendidly." Even a child could've read the sarcasm behind his words.

Becker ruffled through the writhing snake's pockets, fetching several wallets, trinkets, and other ill-gained commodities. "Huh. Looks like he's been having a profitable day. This particular wallet belongs to a... Silas Grimsby. Looks important," Becker noted, closing a well-kept dark pocketbook.

"Aha. I wonder what Mister Grimsby would have to say if he got his hands on you?" It was a rhetorical question, but one he might see answered soon.
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