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Dirge for a Dream
Topic Started: Mar 11 2010, 04:56 PM (969 Views)
JOLS
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Forver Owlsa
[ *  *  * ]
Lieutenant Dobey Striker of the LTPD had just finished reviewing Saix's files one last time and was looking out the window of his 2nd story office. The evening light displayed it's usual pattern through his blinds across the workspace. The dying sun created the familiar stripes across somber photos of high ranking World Government officials, a desk that had slowly accumulated scratches and reminders of family over many years and a bulletin board, bursting with notes.

At one time, he felt the light had given him an edge, one that was missing during the rest of the day. A signal to hurry and finish all his tasks, before going home. That signal had long since worn out, though, after 20 years in this small office. Molly the dying plant reaching his chest, sitting in the shady corner, was a good example of this entropy.

Standing silently, with his back to the door, the lieutenant felt a tinge of betrayal at his superiors for forcing him to bring in marines to help his investigation. A part of him felt he would of done the same thing in their shoes, after all the losses they had taken in the department.

The man who's file was sitting on his desk was that of one Ensign Saix. He had decided to pick him for the job after a long process involving marines from all over East Blue. The young man had caught Dobey's eye for the high shooting marks he had acquired at the academy and his self-sufficient discipline. Saix seemed to Dobey rather talented for an ensign. And he wasn't from Loguetown, one of the most important qualifications for the semi-secret mission he would be sent on.

Glancing for a second over his shoulder, Dobey looked at the bulletin board he liked to organize his investigations on. He felt a deep hatred for the man whose picture was pinned to the top of the board, despite never having seen him in person. This investigation had taken too many young lives. If it weren't that he had his reputation on the line, having volunteered personally for it, he might of given it up long ago. Like everyone else who had gone after alleged drug smuggler Falcon 'Straits' Escobar.

The mustached Escobar seemed to be laughing at him in his picture, he would love to just get one shot at him. Right in the gut. If he was as strong as he had been in his youth, that would of been enough to end him. But things had to be done cleanly nowadays. As he stared at the setting sun, he sighed the melancholy sigh of a man who was slowly being rendered obsolete.

*Beep* "Ensign Saix is here to see you, Lieutenant" His secretary notified over the local den den on his desk, interrupting his thoughts.

Dobey slowly turned, preparing to greet the young man as he came in. He hoped Saix wasn't as uncomfortable about the cross-agency cooperation as he was. Or the man he would be assigned to work with. That might be his toughest sell.
Edited by JOLS, Mar 11 2010, 05:02 PM.
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The past week was completely confusing for Saix. A little over a week ago, he had gotten orders to be moved from where he had been stationed at in Conomi Island to another Marine Base, this one much larger. This one was located on Loguetown, still within the East Blue, but what confused the Ensign most was that he had no idea as to why they were transferring him to a different base on such short notice.

He had tried asking his superiors as to why he was being moved, but he received the same answer each time: "You'll be briefed when you arrive." Eventually, after the third time of getting the same answer, the Ensign gave up on trying to figure out as to why he was changing bases so fast. A few days earlier, just under a week ago, he was put on the next Marine Ship heading in that direction, and soon he was set up at the Marine Base, still uninformed as to why he was moved there.

Eventually, news came to him. Two days earlier, he had received a message that he should report to the a man known as Lieutenant Dobey Striker in two days, and all would be explained there. Not knowing what to do otherwise, the man couldn't help but go along with what his orders were, and when the day came for him to meet Striker, he took up his sword, before walking to where he was supposed to meet him at.

He arrived a little before he was supposed to meet with the Lieutenant, and as such he was asked to wait in the waiting room while he waited for his appointment with Striker to happen. He had simply been sitting in a chair near the receptionist's desk for around twenty minutes, before it was time for the appointment between the two to commence. The Secretary buzzed to the Lt. that he was here, before she nodded at him, before pointing down a hallway. "The door's the last on the left, you can't miss it." She said, before the Ensign rose from his chair, placing his sword onto one of the belts that fastened behind him, before walking towards the office.

Once arriving at the door, the Ensign glanced around the hallway once more, before sighing, and opening the door quietly. Once it was open wide enough, he walked into the room, making notice of the desk and the windows behind it, before he closed the door behind him. Upon seeing the Lieutenant, he clicked his feet together, and did the traditional Marine salute to the higher ranking man, though his traditional confused face showed up on his face. This happened whenever he met someone new, not saying anything bad about them, but the quiet Marine was always cautious when meeting someone for the first time. He realized, however, that he hadn't introduced himself, though he figured that Striker knew who he was, he knew that it was the mandatory to say his name and rank to higher ranked people.

"Ensign Saix Ni, reporting for duty." He said in a semi-quiet voice, loud enough to be heard by Striker, but not loud enough to be in a commanding voice that most Marines had. Once his salute was over, his hands fell unconsciously to where they normally go to, his left resting upon his pistol, while his right went back and rested at his side, though the back of his elbow was lightly touching the end of the handle of the sword.
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Striker smiled as Saix came into his office. The boy looked a little stiff to Dobey. Stiffer than most marines he met, at least. He would have to try to play the part of the welcome host to the young man.

"Ensign Saix Ni, reporting for duty."

The Lieutenant was confused for a second by a salute he was unused to receiving. He instinctively tried mirroring the seeming social gesture, as if he were meeting a long isolated jungle tribe. And he imagined for a second, how much stronger a marine's right shoulder must be then their left after all those years of saluting. One more reason he could never have joined them, he thought. Dobey wondered for a second how he could have been coerced into repeating the Marine's actions. He chuckled under his breath. He also noticed the boy had kept his weapons with him, hands at the ready. That paranoia would serve him well here in the Logue.

"Well, Saix, you're probably wondering why you're in the local police pre-"

*Beep* "Lieutenant, Mel is early, he's trying to get *huff* in. OW! You little-!" Before the den den mushi was cut off the rustling of papers and office supplies hitting the floor were heard. The sounds were the result of Detective Melvin Hutch trying to forcibly enter Striker's office. Against the will of Maria, Striker's burly assistant.

Mel was early? Striker pondered. That was very unusual. What was usual was Mel interrupting a private meeting of his. That was right up Mel's alley. Most Lieutenants in the Loguetown Police department wouldn't put up with these kinds of things. Striker did because Mel reminded him of himself at his age. Just a little, though, mostly in his ability to get results. Not at all in the completely unprofessional attitude towards his job, that was all Mel. There was also the fact that if Mel didn't have a take no prisoners, by any means necessary, style of sleuthing he did; there was a good chance he wouldn't of made it as long as he had in Loguetown. He could think like a criminal because he almost was one, Dobey considered, and that was invaluable here.


Dealing with Bureaucratic hurdles was one thing, Mel knew what he signed up for when he took the badge. This was something completely different. Melvin B. Hutch knew very well when he was or wasn't wanted. It should of been obvious to Striker's secretary that in the years working for the department the Lieutenant always had his door open for his star detective. Didn't Striker go over things like this when he was training his new assistants?

He had gone through many in the past year, though, Melvin thought. Every time he met the newest new one they seemed to be larger and stronger than the last. If he didn't know better, it was almost as if his boss didn't want to see him whenever he happened to be on the second floor. But that was absurd. Striker had probably just hired the woman he was currently wrestling, to try and reach the door handle, in case the precinct house was attacked and everyone had to take up arms. That had to be it.

Maria, the newest in a long line, currently had the best of him. The flaxen haired brute had his head in her arm and with her free hand tried informing the Lieutenant of his arrival. That usually happened after he was already in the office, Mel thought, considering this unique situation. But, this was no time for a look back on happier times. Nor was it a time for a chivalrous confrontation. The head lock was slowly cutting off oxygen supply to his noggin. Mel had to think fast.

Maria had him trapped from behind, with her bear like arm wrapped securely around his neck. The extra height advantage Maria wielded over him also meant she was supporting his weight on her bosom. With both of his arms free, though, his escape would be simple.

He arced both hands backwards, finding Maria's face. Firmly grabbing the back of her head and ears, his thumbs tried to find their targets. there they were he thought, he felt the soft crevice of her eyelids as she tried closing them. That wouldn't help her now. He put pressure on them, a warning that if he wasn't let go, she might lose her eyes. Maria called his bluff and her massive arm didn't budge. He decided to end it. Clamping both thumbs down hard he jerked her head as hard as he could to the side.

In a fraction of a second her grip slackened and he had both feet back on the floor, Maria's head still in his hands. He let go of the large woman. He had just won out against the newest obstacle life had put in front of him. He felt good!

"Aghh! I quit! Damn you and that idiot boss of yours!"
Maria wailed as she stormed towards the stairway. Win some you lose some, Mel considered as he went to claim his prize and peeked inside the office.


As Mel stuck his head through the office door Striker wondered if he could convince his superiors to get a salty marine as his next secretary. Mel looked at the the both of them for a second, recognizing what the meeting was about. He snaked the rest of his body through the door.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Oh! Is this the new Marine that's gonna help us out? Lieutenant tells me we're gonna be partners, nice ta meet ya." Mel, extending his hand with a big smile on his face. Striker did his best to conceal the anger now brimming from his skull.
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Though they were on different ranking systems, Lt. was a good rank for both the Marines and the World Government. The Ensign had done the traditional Marine salute towards the higher ranking man, and even had watched the man try and salute him back, though it wasn't as perfected as the Marine's traditional Salute usually was. But, just as Striker started to speak, his Den Den Mushi cut him off, as his assistant alerted him of someone trying to get to his office.

Though he hadn't even been in the office for more than an hour or so, he could tell that something was up with the way the assistant was talking to the Lieutenant. It almost sounded as if they were trying to hold someone back from getting to the office. During that time when Striker was thinking, Saix looked more around the office to see what was there so he could try and get a more understanding of the situation at hand.

Looking at the man's desk first, the Marine found there to be a file on there. After seeing a few small lines on there from his reading upside-down, the man found something that he had been looking for: His name. It was obvious that the man had chosen him to do something here in Loguetown, just what it was he wasn't too sure of.

Taking his eyes away from the desk, the teen saw a bulletin board along one of the walls, complete with small newspaper clippings and pictures on there. Near the top of the board, he found a picture of a Mustached-Man. There was something about him that set the Ensign off, but he just couldn't tell what it was at the moment. His picture just seemed... off. He would have to figure out what it was later, though.

After hearing something down the hall that sounded like a yelling noise, Saix turned towards the door, wondering what was going on. He didn't have to wait long, though, since the door was opening and a guy stuck his head through it, before he started saying "Hey, Lieutenant! Oh! Is this the new Marine that's gonna help us out? Lieutenant tells me we're gonna be partners, nice ta meet ya." before extending his hand to shake the Ensign's hand.

As the new man, Mel, had walked in, confusion once again came upon the Ensign's face as he tried to judge the man to see if he was a good or bad man to have along, and by the way Striker was holding back what the Ensign assumed to be anger was, he was assuming that Mel was a bad person to have around. But in order to be courteous to the new arrival, the Ensign shook his hand, before turning back to the Lieutenant to try and see what was going on.

"What does he mean by being partners? And for what?" The Ensign asked, saying a longer sentence than usual for him while doing so. He was really curious as to what Mel was referring too, and what kind of assignment the Ensign would be going on, since so far he had been left in the dark on what all he was actually doing. A little enlightenment from Lt. Striker would probably help him out.
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A small migraine had begun forming in Striker's head. At this point in time, Mel would most likely start talking the new arrival's ear off. He had to act fast if he wanted to take control of the situation. It was hard to talk over Melvin Hutch, but, not impossible. And he really didn't need the Ensign any more confused than he already was.

But, on the other hand he was going to have to meet the walking tornado, as he was frequently called, sooner or later. The more time he had to adjust to the relationship, the better, right? Now that he was no longer working the beat, one of things he did take pride in was his ability to match talent. Hopefully working with Saix would help calm down Mel's loose cannon ways. He had noticed Melvin had been a little calmer in the weeks following his old partner's demise. Maybe the thick shell could be penetrated. Or maybe not.

"Err, yes. Ensign Saix Ni, this is Melvin B. Hutch. He is one of of our finer detectives, and you'll be working with him. We are conducting an investigation on drug smuggler Falc-"
Lieutenant striker began explaining.

"Alleged" Mel interrupted. Striker's eye twitched unconsciously and he gritted his teeth before continuing.

"Yes, alleg-"
Composed momentarily, Striker tried continuing.

"Oh! Boss, I forgo-" Mel stopped him before he could finish his sentence. The excitement of meeting the Ensign had caused him to forget the real reason he had come in. The reason he had been early.

"Godammit! Will you stop interrupting me! Unless you have the hottest lead we ever got, shut your goddamn trap!" Striker brought his fist down on his desk, his nameplate falling to the ground. A pulsating vein was now clearly visible on Striker's forehead. It was only a matter of time, that whenever the Lieutenant was around Mel, that he produced this reaction.

There Striker goes again, Melvin thought. That man was going to have a heart attack one of these days, if he didn't learn to take it easy. Shouldn't he be happy that he was early? He was always bugging him about that. Mel turned to Saix for a moment raising his eyebrows and shrugging. This was his practiced 'what crawled up his butt?' look. Well, he was going to be happy about the latest news, at least.

"Well, I do, some of Falcon's boys just got killed in that bar on Fifth and Sengoku." Mel continued his previous thoughts, completely unfazed by the Lieutenant's outburst. Immediately, Striker's face calmed. This was good news. But, the meeting was all over.
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As the Ensign stepped back, watching the two World Government members starting to argue over something, Saix picked up some details that would probably prove useful in a little while. Apparently he was going to be doing an investigation on a man named 'Falcon' who was an, as Mel put it, an 'alleged' drug dealer within Loguetown. As the Ensign watched the Lieutenant seem to get angrier and angrier at the Detective.

Glancing at the bulletin board once again, the Marine walked up to it, reaching up and unpinned the man at the top of the board while setting him in his hand. His curiosity took the better of him with this, and while the conversation was dieing down, the Ensign, turned to Striker, holding out the picture in his hand, as if asking who the man was to the Lieutenant. Just then, the man, Mel, gave off some interesting detail that would probably prove useful to the Ensign right now:

"Well, I do, some of Falcon's boys just got killed in that bar on Fifth and Sengoku."

This caught the Ensign's attention: Not only was the name Falcon mentioned again, but some dead men of his were involved somehow. This interested the Marine, as he set the photo on Striker's desk so he could walk up to Mel with nothing in his pockets.

"Are you sure it's Falcon's men?" He asked, wondering where the Detective had heard the news at, and wondering why a Drug Ring was causing the Loguetown Police so much trouble. If anything, they could've called in a whole group of Marines to take care of the men if it was getting too much of a problem for the Police, though he figured that they were against calling in so many Marines.

Touching his pistol with his left hand, the Ensign figured that their meeting was coming to a close, and that if they were going to the bar, then he'd have to be ready for anything that came his way. But, so that he wouldn't be keeping the two men waiting, the Ensign asked another question:

"How long til we leave?" The Ensign asked, his other hand unconsciously going back to it's usual spot at his side, though he didn't know much about what was going on. He'd have to go with the flow in order to keep track of everything that would be going on during his assignment, and if anything went wrong, well, he hoped that his training to be an Ensign would pay off.

Looking up at the two men, Saix took one more look at the photograph before looking at Striker's eyes to show that he was still awaiting an answer on exactly who that man was, though the Ensign had his suspicions about who it was. He decided to keep quiet for now, however, to take in as much information as he could at the moment.

The Ensign thought of something else as well: This would determine if the Marine could sink or swim on an actual assignment, and if he could, well, then maybe he had the chance of becoming more of a Marine than he was at the moment.
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Huzzah! They finally got to do some real sleuthing! Mel considered his luck. He might even get an excuse to use his new revolver. It had been almost a week since he had fired a weapon. Far too long, he thought. Oh, hell! If they didn't have a reason, he'd make one. His mother didn't raise a sloucher. He noticed the quiet marine had found his way to the corner.

"Are you sure it's Falcon's men?" The ensign, his name was Sex, right? That's what Striker had said. That had to be wrong. Maybe he hadn't pronounced it right. Maybe, he had heard wrong. Mel didn't mind if it was Sex, though. He thought it was pretty BAD-ASS. Capitalized, in fact.

"Yeah, Sex, I'm sure they were." Mel looked over at the Ensign, nodding. Then he turned his head to the door, like a child anxious to be let out for recess. Sex was careful, almost reminded Mel of his Lieutenant. Or maybe it was just that the two were in the same room. Yeah, that was probably it. Careful was probably a good idea around these parts, too. Sex didn't look like he was from this Island, either. Loguetown had a tendency to swallow people whole. Especially people who didn't know what to expect from it. He had to take him under his wing, he decided. After all, how many young had been taken by Falcon's own particular contribution to the monster, Loguetown?

"How long til we leave?"
The ensign predicted. The kid was sharp. He *had* picked well, Striker thought. He give himself a mental pat on the back, very satisfied with his choice. Everything was fitting into place. This didn't make Striker happy, though. It made him nervous. This was when he had to be most cautious.

"Lets go now!"
Mel burst out, impatiently. Mirroring Saix's movement, he put his hand over the butt of his gun. He almost pulled it out to point at the door, but, stopped himself. The last and only time he had pulled out his gun in striker's office was also the only time he been threatened with expulsion from the force. At least by the Lieutenant. He had to wait till they got outside to pull out his baby. Then he could show it to Saix. He would probably appreciate it more than Striker did, anyways.

"You're pretty observant, Saix, that will serve you well. That's our target, Falcon 'Straits' Escobar. Let's head out, Mel. We can complete the rest of the briefing on the way over."
Striker ignored Mel's last comment and nodded his head, motioning towards the door. Mel opened the door for the other two as Striker rounded his desk over to his coat rack. He grabbed his street gear and headed out the door. In a well practiced hurry, Striker walked past Maria's desk while sleeving his trench coat on and donning his hat, at a roguish angle. Both were well worn and had seen their fair share of the street. Striker took note of Maria's absence. Just to be safe, he reminded himself to ask Mel about that later.

At his age and with the desk work he usually had, Striker had trouble with the pace Mel put. When they got to the stairs Mel was practically running down, taking several steps at once. By the time Striker made it to the bottom, he was already running out of breath. He couldn't let the two see his weakness, though. He shoved his coat's collar over his face. Mel would probably think he didn't want any undue attention. Falcon had eyes and ears everywhere, and plenty of them focused on Striker. They passed the busy lobby, full of petty criminals being booked and cops writing away different reports.

Mel felt like they were a team again, the two of them and the new addition. He opened the doors leading to the evening streets of the Rogue's Town. He was going to have fun tonight.
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"Yeah, Sex, I'm sure they were." The man, Mel, said to the Ensign as he looked at the man weirdly at the way he said his name wrong. His name was Saix, S-a-i-x, Saix, and the man had called him something else: Sex, S-e-x, and by what the Ensign had always heard from the rumors of what 'Sex' was, but since he first of all wasn't interested in finding a girl at his age, nor was he at the legal World Government age to, he wasn't planning on having any 'Sex' at his age.

It wasn't long after thinking about what Mel had said than when Striker had said who the man was: Falcon 'Straits' Escobar, the 'alleged' drug ring leader of Loguetown, from what Saix had gathered from their conversation so far. He nodded, and after the two men's small talk of when they should leave, the Ensign stepped aside of them and let them pass out the door, waiting to be the last one in the room for a moment.

When Striker left, the Marine walked up to the desk with the photo of Falcon on it, looking it over once more for memory's sake, before he took it in his hands and stuffed it down his ammunition bag, to make sure it would still be useful if they had to question anyone in Loguetown about the man and his actions.

By this time, the Ensign was sure that he'd better get moving before he'd get left behind by the Lieutenant and his Energetic Detective associate. Walking briskly out of the room, the Ensign closed the door behind him before heading the way he had walked to the office to catch Striker and Mel as they were just heading towards the stairs of the building.

As the three of them descended the stairs, with Saix being able to keep pace with Mel easily, but went slightly slower due to Striker's sake, he thought about the situation he was being thrown into at the moment: He had been selected, as an Ensign, by a World Government Police Lieutenant to help out on a situation about a Loguetown, one of the, if not the, most populated of all the islands in the East Blue, along with one of his workers, a Detective by the name of Mel, who was still younger at heart, and seemed extremely eager about their assignment.

Getting closer to the bottom of the stairs, Saix thought about what all the men were carrying with them to keep themselves armed. He knew that he had his trusty One-Shot pistol with him, along with his Marine-Issue Sword that most Marines carried around when they were his rank. He had noticed that Mel had a revolver with him, and had been almost too trigger-happy to use it wisely, as the Ensign had seen that he had been itching to pull it out since they had been in the office. He did not know what all the Lieutenant had on him, but he figured that if the man had been promoted to a Lieutenant from being probably where Mel was now, he had to have some fight in him still.

When they got downstairs, the Marine scanned the room, noting the Petty Criminals around them and the Police filling out the forms to book them in a Prison cell. He even noticed that a Marine or two were there escorting some 'Pirates' that they had caught to give them their sentence, weather it be for life or for a month or so. Turning his attention back to Striker, the Ensign noticed that he had opened a door for them, and nodded in thanks towards the man, walking outside into the crisp night air of Loguetown.

Glancing around, the Marine pulled out another one of his tools, a small Marine issue Compass, as he tried to figure out what the best way to get to the Bar would be, and after finding what North was, he figured that if the World Government Police didn't have a better way of getting there, the Marine pointed towards East, meaning that if they followed along that road they'd have to take only two turns to arrive at the Bar where the dead men were located at. And if they hurried, they'd reach it in a little over ten to fifteen minutes.
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The group made their way through the last of Loguetowns' heading home for the night. The air had the slightest touch of a bittersweet tang of the coming madness that was Logue at night. The hurry of a few was that of someone who couldn't wait to get home and start a crusade of unwinding. It was even evident in the tone of voice people used to communicate, it having an excited lilt missing during most of the day.

Even at his age, Striker cut an impressive figure. He moved through the crowds with ease. There was not the slightest trace of a slouch that most people would have developed with his lifestyle. His back was as straight as the day he got out of the academy. And his arms even larger. With his trench coat trailing behind him he could see above the tops of most people's heads in the street. The idea of hiding his identity in his outfit was ridiculous. It was like shrouding a mountain with a blanket.

He had relegated himself to appear as if he were being escorted by Mel, keeping a brisk pace behind him. Mel had both hands tucked snugly into his leather jacket. He had put sunglasses on that were inappropriate to the level of light. He used his usual 'I'm a cop, look at me' walk. He exaggerated each step by doing an extra push with each foot. Striker had once called it his duck walk. He turned his head towards Saix and still walking, he asked.

"Hey, wanna check out my new gun?" Mel found he had pulled his revolver out. It pointed towards the sky. It was heavier than he was used to. It was also a higher caliber. And it's polished metal shone in the lights of the night. Regardless of whether Saix felt like checking it out or not, he tossed it over to him. It seemed to slowly rotate through the air, as if it's weight slowed it's arc. Had he loaded it? Mel considered. It didn't matter, because Saix looked like he knew his way around guns.

"Guns! I remember when we could patrol these streets with just a club! Of course, I didn't even use that."
Striker scoffed, sneering. He was still rather upset about Mel's interruption earlier. It was unresolved. He would find a way to pay the debt, though.

The lieutenant had always relied on just his fists to get things done on the street. Remembering of days past, Striker considered a piece was probably one of the reasons he had eventually been forced to work behind a desk. During a particularly heinous incident he had been called in for a review. It had been a hostage case. He clearly remembered both the situation and the meetings afterward with his superiors. They had all agreed if he had a firearm with him the hostage's life wouldn't have been taken. He remembered her face. Red as a tomato, covered with the remains of sobbing and mucus, her eyes had been wide with fright. Then she was gone. He had then proceeded to kill the perp with his bare fists.

Mel moseyed past a food stand. Without so much at a glance at the owner or the food he absentmindedly grabbed a hot dog. It had been destined for a paying customer, who had eyed it hungrily. It was now destined for Mel's stomach. Mouth full and munching away he retorted Striker's admonishment.

"Yeah. Whatever, man."
He had heard this before from Striker. He knew if he argued with him, it would only start a diatribe from the lieutenant.
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As the group walked through the crowd, the Ensign couldn't help but notice the Lieutenant's odd walk that he did when he walked, as if he was trying to bring attention to him while doing so. The coat did set him apart from the rest of the crowd, as did his height and his hat. He almost seemed as if he wasn't caring what the world might do to him if something did happen, though Saix did somewhat doubt that anyone would be stupid enough for that to happen to someone.

"Hey, wanna check out my new gun?" Mel's voice cut in to Saix's thoughts, as he soon found the weapon flying through the air towards him. Being the Marksman as he was, the Sharpshooter was intrigued at the weapon, for he hadn't actually used something like a revolver like that before, mostly because it was a very expensive weapon, though he knew it'd be worth it when he could afford one, so that no one would stand against the Marines. He'd be a true Gun-shooting Marine, just like Rusty thought he would be.

As he looked over the weapon, the Ensign realized that the weapon was somewhat dirty looking, and even though he knew it wasn't his, his natural instinct to clean his weapons kicked in, as he was unconsciously pulling out his small cloth out of his pocket with his left hand and starting to wipe the weapon down for Mel, making sure to clean the weapon fully before he would even attempt to give the Revolver back to the man.

"Guns! I remember when we could patrol these streets with just a club! Of course, I didn't even use that." Saix heard Striker say as they walked, still wondering how the man would fight if the situation arose for that to happen. By the way he had said that, he figured that the man was used to using either blunt objects or fists to get the job done, but he wasn't entirely sure as they still walked.

Since he was younger and at Rusty's house, guns and swords were the way he learned to fight. The guns were still his main way of fighting people, and swords were still his second way, if someone would come to close to him while fighting, and while he wasn't as proficient with a sword as he was a gun, he was still somewhat good with his weapon, at least to the extent that he would be able to fend them off so he could reload his weapon.

After a minute or two more, and after he had made sure Mel had wiped the hot dog grease off of his hands, he walked back to him, presenting the weapon to him before putting it in his hands, and walking back to where he was at, near Striker's left side, as Mel was walking on his right side.

Taking a look at his compass again, he figured that they had walked enough of that direction, and when he got to where they were supposed to turn at, he was the first to turn, starting to glance around while doing so so he wouldn't be caught off guard if they happened to be attacked by someone or something. Though, he hoped that he wasn't going to be attacked in the first place.

Even though he knew general directions in Loguetown, he looked at Striker for directions to get the bar from where they were. He had gotten them to Sengoku street, and hopefully they were closer to the bar than where he was thinking they were at. Unconsciously once more, his left hand went to his pistol, so he would be sure that if they were attacked, he'd be ready for it.

He still figured that once they got to the bar and started to ask questions, they were at a better chance to be attacked than they were right now, and knowing that made the Ensign feel more at ease with the situation at hand. Hopefully they were close to the bar, he thought again, so that they would get closer to catching 'Falcon' and get his Loguetown Drug Ring over with as soon as possible.
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The trio were getting close to the to the bar. Striker noticed the rapid degeneration of the surroundings as they progressed. This meant they were in hostile territory. The markings on the street's walls made him nervous. They pointed out which particular crew this or that corner belonged to. He may have had a badge under his coat, but in some areas of Loguetown, that was more a bull's eye than a shield.

After getting his baby back Mel wondered why the marine was using his compass, when both the lieutenant and Mel knew the way over to the bar. Maybe it had something to do with their survival training? He had heard that stuff was tough. Striker interrupted his thoughts with a sharp admonishment.

"Detective! You didn't pay for that hot dog, did you!? Stop messing around and give Saix the rest of the briefing, we're almost there!"
Striker lashed out, his surroundings were getting him nervous. That and he had flipped a coin to the stand's owner after he saw what Mel had done. This was just a small taste to the grunt work he would have Mel do tonight.

Mel just sighed, knowing the mood his boss was in was not to be argued against. Besides, he pondered, people should give free hot dogs to the boys in blue. It was the least they could do. Even if he brought a cat, they should have to feed it mashed up dogs with the bun dipped in water. It was a matter of principle. After all, without them, they wouldn't even have the safe streets to just sell their goods. Mel fumed internally.

He proceeded to give the long put off briefing, briefly covering the drug epidemic in Loguetown. He included the effects of the crimson plague; as the forces of law referred to it. It was named for the red eyes it produced in it's users. The debilitating effects left people lying as if they were struck by a bout. He also elaborated on the power dynamic in the district they were in. He followed it by a short history of the failed attempts at catching Falcon. And a short mention of the members of the force who had died, including his partner.

Mel missed Cortie. He reminisced of those happy days. Just the two of them, taking in perps lined up in chains. Both of them loose cannons, guns blazing at any and every suspect. Chasing all manner of lawbreakers through the narrow alleys of the Logue. With a glimmer of nostalgia in his eye, Mel wrapped up his briefing.

"Got any questions?" Mel asked. He turned his head to look at Saix. Striker had his head pointed straight ahead and noticed that they had arrived at the Devil's Dog. It's sign clearly advertising it's wicked presence. The bar itself was a rather imposing structure, it's dark architecture dominated the street. The glass of a lot of it's windows had been broken. It only seemed like the main one had been shattered in this particular incident. It was a dealer's tavern, through and through.

This had to be the bar Mel had mentioned. There were several policemen milling about outside it. It had been cordoned off already, no one passing by seemed to take a second glance at it, though. A couple of officers took statements from witnesses and others blithely walked about crushing clues while looking for others. Striker couldn't make out the bodies from where he was standing.
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As the trio started working their way closer to the bar, the Ensign started noticing a lot of symbols along the walls of the town, mostly seeing Jolly Rogers along the sides of the buildings, each one with a different style, although there were quite a few Gang signs of Loguetown from the other gangs of the Large Island city. Hopefully the news of the Dead men in the bar would keep the other gangs in hiding for a few days until it was safe to come back out.

As the Ensign took out his Compass once more, he noticed that Mel was looking at him funny for doing so. The Marine didn't say anything, because that if he could figure out the directions to the Bar by using his compass wisely, he then could probably then figure out Loguetown quickly on future Missions without needing directions, and just using his Compass, since he was a Navigator after all.

"Detective! You didn't pay for that hot dog, did you!? Stop messing around and give Saix the rest of the briefing, we're almost there!" Saix rolled his eyes at this, since he had witnessed the Detective take the hot dog, but hadn't said anything since he saw that the Lieutenant had tossed the man a Beli coin that would probably cover the cost of the food, though the Marine didn't know the average sale price of a Hot dog at night in Loguetown off the top of his head, so he could only assume.

As Saix turned and started listening to the Detective's report on what was going on in Loguetown, the Ensign took silent notes in his head about how the victims of the drug would appear if they did indeed take the drug. The 'Crimson Plague' victims's eyes would be the dead giveaway to the eye, and their appearance would also be a big giveaway, if the victim did indeed look like they'd been beaten up.

The list of people that have died during the case, though, surprised the Ensign as it was shown on his face quite plainly. The list seemed to be pretty large for a Police Force to lose their members so often to one case, and that seemed to throw the Marine off, for he was one to think of it in the way that if many people were dieing that they should send their best people to crush the- Wait, is that what they were?

The Ensign shook this off, and figured that the last person that Mel mentioned probably had some relation to him, maybe being his former partner by the way he said the name and zoned out some before zoning back into the conversation. When Mel asked if Saix had anymore questions, he simply shook his head, before looking to see what Striker was looking at.

When he saw the sign, the Marine remembered hearing the name of the bar somewhere else before. Probably rumors from the Loguetown Marine Base, that'd make some good sense about it. The Devil's Dog was blocked off by tape right now, which to the normal eye would indicate that no one could get inside. But, knowing that situation they were in, the Marine walked up to the near Striker, looked at the outside for a moment, before ducking under the tape around the door and walking inside to inspect it. He pulled out his pistol in his left hand for safe measure, twirling it around, before cocking the weapon.
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The lower ranked foot slappers greeted Mel and the Lieutenant as they walked towards the entrance. The two followed Saix into the the shattered establishment. Tables had been upended and stools were in all manner of areas they had not been designed for. By the amount of glass and broken bottles littering the floor, it seemed a tavern-wide brawl had erupted. And in the middle of the wreckage, were the two murdered men. One was face down and the other looked towards the tavern's high ceiling.

Feet crunching under the debris, Striker approached the bodies and squatted besides them. There was not the slightest hint of reverence for the dead as he handled and examined the bodies. Not after this long on the force, and with these two scumbags. If anything, there was restrained anger. Mel walked over next to him, peering down at the two with a hint of contempt. Without peering in his direction, Striker instructed.

"Looks like these two had their wake already. Mel, I want you to catalog every brand of liquor in this bar." He had a desire to look over at his reaction, but needed to keep his facade of professionalism.

"Man! Can't Sex do that?" Mel bellyached, as he tried to pull seniority.

"No, Saix, can't. He's going to help me with the bodies. After you're done with that, I want a complete reconstruction of the bar, all the glasses, tables and patrons; as they were right before the incident."
That should keep Mel out of his hair, Striker pondered. At least until he gets bored and finds a way out of it. He always did. Mel walked away picking up random bits of glass as he started with his instructions. It looked like just plenty of Sake.

Turning over the bodies, the Lieutenant found their marks. These tattoos established most of the thugs' and pirates' allegiances in Loguetown. Examining them closer he noticed something strange about the two. Yes, he was certain of it. These two had covered their previous tattoos. They were on their shoulders, a common and readily visible area. Either the two were some of the so called 'converts' or they were both spies. This was had be a clue to their deaths.

Striker tried rubbing and spitting on the tattoos, just in case they were fakes. That didn't produce a result. Dabbing his fingers in what appeared to be some strong liquor in a half broken bottle, he tried again. There was a small amount of smudging on the falcon themed marks. It looked like Mel had been wrong after all, these weren't Falcon's men. He couldn't make out the original tattoo underneath, he kept rubbing away.
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The Ensign looked around, stepping over the glass in his shoes which resulted in a semi-loud crunching noise. As the Marine walked around, he checked the corners of the room out of instinct, to make sure that nothing was there to jump out and surprise them, because as he was taught in the Marine Academy, 'One Surprise Equals Your Demise.' They said it rhymed, though it took Saix a while to finally grasp that concept.

Finally turning to the middle of the room, the Ensign walked towards the dead bodies there, this shoes still making the audible noises of crunching beneath his feet. He knelt down on Striker's other side while he examined the bodies. The Marine, just to make sure the men were truly dead, hit them with his pistol lightly to make sure there wasn't a reaction. Nothing happened, however, much to the Marine's relief.


"Looks like these two had their wake already. Mel, I want you to catalog every brand of liquor in this bar."

"Man! Can't Sex do that?"

"No, Saix, can't. He's going to help me with the bodies. After you're done with that, I want a complete reconstruction of the bar, all the glasses, tables and patrons; as they were right before the incident."

The Ensign couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief at the conversation happening around him. Mel still couldn't get his name right, still wanting to call him 'Sex' for some odd reason that was beyond the Ensign's reasoning of the Detective, and who was also going to be fixing up most of the Bar by himself. The Marine could only guess what all the man had done to aggravate Striker over the years.

As the Lieutenant flipped over the dead bodies, the Marine watched as he examined something on the shoulder before trying to rub something off on it, but the Ensign didn't know what. He had heard that tattoos were the way people could tell Gang and crew members apart in Loguetown, so maybe that's what Striker was trying to do, figure out the origins of the Tattoos on the dead man's shoulders...?

While Striker did his work, Saix set his pistol away before starting to see if he could figure out the way the men died, whether it was a blunt attack, which would probably be indicated by a bit of the body that was now oddly shaped, or a gun wound with a bit of blood still there on it, and the same would go for a stab or slash wound, for there would still be a bit of blood there on it.

The Marine searched for a few minutes on the first guy, before starting his search on the second guy. It seemed like whoever killed the two false men of Falcon did a pretty good job of keeping how they killed the men a secret. The Marine sighed slightly, before leaning back and looking at how Striker was doing with trying to get the Tattoos off of the bodies of the men.

[OOC: Apologizes if this post fails.]
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Seven bad men walked down a dark alley that emptied towards the Devil's Dog. All had the dark wear marking them as men up to no good. The Tommy guns and rifles shining in their arms were another, more obvious display. Their faces wore the scorn of hate, making them uglier to behold.

Striker was still trying to make out the previous tattoo, he needed to know where these men were from. The ink they had used was resistant to most of his efforts. They might need to take the bodies for a more thorough examination before he could figure this out.

The seven bad men lined up outside the devil's dog, cool as the sea's breeze on this Loguetown night. The first and third both had sunglasses on. The fifth, sixth and seventh wore mustaches. The second and third had berets on their heads. The fourth wore a mask. Only a few people on the cobbled street had realized what was about to happen. They turned to run from the devil's wrath. The backs of the officers taking statements faced the seven assailants. They would be the first to go.

"Now." The masked fourth one said, standing in between the seven. Four fanned out, taking whatever cover they could. The middle three stayed in place as defiant statues in the face of law. The outside two took bottles with rags coming out of the top from their knapsacks. The outside four had found their cover, guns raised. As the two bottle men lit their fire-bombs, the masked man raised his Tommy gun. The outside four had found their cover and had found their targets in their gun's sights.

"These men are no-" Striker was interrupted as he was about to announce to the others what he had found. Mel was examining what seemed to him was his hundredth piece of glass. His back turned to the street, he noticed two flames reflected on it. No, two men with bottles on fire.

"Heads up!" Mel shouted and hit the floor as quick he could. He drew his precious revolver from it's holster. He had found a chance to use it.

Hell ensued. The fire from the two rifle men on the flanks took down the officers outside first, who had futilely drawn their weapons. The deafening roar of the automatic weapons began to tear the Devil's Dog's bar to kindle. Bits of glass and wood rained down throughout the establishment.

Striker and Mel had found themselves ducking under the same cover. Behind the broad table, both realized the same thing. They were pinned, the men outside could come in and execute them at their leisure. And even if they didn't and they continued firing blindly, a ricochet would find them eventually. They had to make a move, and fast. Their desire was doubled when one of the bottles erupted in flames, falling behind the bar. The second followed soon thereafter, engulfing outside the main window. In moments, the bartender's station became an inferno. The flames were fed by the various liquors Mel had been trying to catalog moments before. The tavern's name, was at that moment, more appropriate than ever.

Striker decided now was as good a time as any to learn how to fire a gun. He snatched Mel's revolver from his hand. The weight felt good in his hand. He had once tried to hit the broad side of a galleon with a rifle. He had failed. He hoped the mixture of luck, adrenaline and the force of moral righteousness would help him find his targets better this time around.
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