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Training on Cactus Island- Aim for the Top!; Part 1 of 37
Topic Started: Aug 3 2016, 10:36 AM (309 Views)
Tengu
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Cactus Island. A place of mourning, of suffering, of anguish. A macabre place like this seemed to suffocate most in the thick atmosphere, leading to a pure, almost distilled form of concentrated despair. All of this made it hard to fathom how Uther, no, Itami, had managed to end up in a place so utterly perfect for him, and on his first real day in the Grand Line, no less. With the luck he had, it was hard to limit himself to the twisted grin that had been plastered on his face since the first step he took onto the sandy shores and found himself surrounded by mourners.

If there was a place to make him strong, this was it.

You zealots are all fools, thinking what you’re doing is making a difference, that some god will help you. What a joke.” He openly laughed at the first invitation he was given to join in the mourning, acrid tone masking a twinge of regret. No, he had to steel his resolve if he had to become stronger, and the first step to that would have to be rejecting the concept of the divine and rely on his own strength. What his parents had taught, no, forced upon him when he was growing up about those matters were simply fairy tales.

Thoroughly convincing himself that was the truth, Itami gave a self-nod as he walked away, not noticing that he reflexively tossed a coin into one of the public offering plates…

***
A few hours of trekking later, the mercenary finally made it to his real destination- Velvet Tip. If taking on the mental load from being surrounded by mourners was what would strengthen his mind, this community was the key to strengthening his body. Walking through the city that was still in relative shambles, Itami made a beeline for the seediest bar that he could find, certain that such a place would be an ideal location for finding contract work.
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"What shall it be, sir?"

A single bar sat on the edges of Velvet tip, it's neighbourhood a concentration of the gloom that hung in the air of the town. Weathered, decaying buildings, bearing scars of the frequent brawling in the area and populated only by the homeless. Even on the sunniest of days, the hills of Cactus island cast a permanent shade over this beaten part of town. Though its appearance was hardly impressive, likely even more shabby than the decrepit ruins around it, the Broken Barrel was unmistakably the liveliest place outside of the markets in the more built-up areas of town.

Unfortunately, the attention it gathered was not of the positive kind. Rough, rugged and jagged-looking men gathered around splintering tables, their conversations lost in the rabble of drunken yelling. If the jolly roger tattoos peeking out under the ripped sleeves of many of these dagger-eyed patrons was any indicator, villainy was festering in this tavern like maggots in an open wound. Such a place would inevitably end up attracting those who hunted such beasts too, a fact that those shifty-eyed pirates knew. It was the neutral ground that they stood on which kept either side from acting, lest half the town break out into one huge brawl. Two badly bruised, unconscious bodies in the corner were enough to suggest that it was hardly a rare occurrence.

"Spiced rum, if ye' will."

A coarse, grizzly voice responded to the barkeep, a perfect match for the grey-haired giant who possessed it. He stood taller than nearly all others at the bar despite his slumped posture, his body shrouded in a muddy brown coat and his eyes almost hidden by a gold-trimmed tricorn. The left one was covered by an eyepatch anyway, and if one were to look closely they would see a stick of discoloured, barnacle-encrusted wood poking out the bottom of the coat in place of a leg. With one hand hidden in his cloak, he rummaged around his pockets for a moment before planting a few coins on the counnter.

"Certainly." The bartender was equally tall, yet significantly bulkier - a hulking, muscular body threatened to burst right out of his bartender uniform, his handlebar moustache roughly twice as wide as his head. In no time at all, he had retrieved and poured a bottle for the rusty customer, who gave a thankful nod in return.
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Pushing the front door of the Broken Barrel a bit too much force, Itami entered the ramshackle establishment and gave a sly grin, satisfied that he had chosen the right place as he walked through the chaos. With the kind of clientele this place had, if he couldn’t find work, he could at least find a fight with someone society didn’t mind dead. Slab of a sword swinging on his back, the mercenary made his way to the bar and leaned against the counter, taking note of the other patrons around him as he waited to be served. Most seemed to be pirates, and all seemed to be battle scarred, a good sign for his purposes.

What’ll ya have?” the barman finally croaked at him as he wiped a glass clean.

Fighting back the urge to request hard cider at the risk of not being taken seriously, the young man decided on a drink a bit more suited for a place full of seafaring men. “I need spiced rum, a pitcher of it.” He said, sliding a folded bill across the bar to show he was serious. “And…” swiping his hand sideways, he showed that it was five notes rather than just one “…I need to find work. Legality, danger, dirtiness- none of that matters to me. You know where I can find something like that?

The barkeep simply looked at him at the stack of bills before picking them up and walking away, returning a few moments later with a pitcher of liquor and a single glass.

Squinting at the bartender who had taken the bribe but decided to stay silent, Itami shrugged, knocking over the glass and grabbing the entire pitcher at taking a long swig. No, it looked like if he had to do everything himself. Glancing over at a grizzled old man to his side, the mercenary immediately took note of his prosthetics and grinned. “Hey, old man, mister silver hair, why don’t you tell a young pup about your scars?
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The grey-haired bear of a man barely even offered a glance towards the one who entered the bar shortly after him. There was many groups and individuals in the bar; a squabble of loudly drunk small-time pirates, a roguish figure with glints of metal visible beneath a ragged cloak, some masked men playing a card game and even a bunch of what looked like priests huddled around a table right in the corner. It was none of Worley's business who any of these men were, nor did he give a damn. The same therefore went for anyone else who entered, even if that person came to sit right beside his place at the counter. He was much more concerned with taking swigs of the rum he had purchased, drinking straight from the bottle rather than the glass that had been prepared for him. With little care for his already worn coat, he didn't hesitate for even a second to wipe off the lingering liquid around his beard with a sleeve.

It was partly for that reason that the worn-looking giant failed to notice that one of the people he had been ignoring was in fact calling for him. A pair of sunken, yellowed eyes flicked in the direction of the much younger man many seconds after he had called out, taking a long moment to observe the one who stood before him. He had ordered the same drink as Roberts, but even a glance was not needed to know that it was not a regular of his - even the scent of grime was scarce on his person, let alone alcohol. Even if he wasn't that clean, Silver's own stench of mud, rum and horribly bad breath was more than enough to overpower any surrounding scents.

He may have worn the garb of a mercenary, a large sword sheathed behind his back, but he showed no real signs of ever properly working a day in his life. Aside from the occasional small scar, his skin was fair and blemish free, his hands entirely free of calluses and comparable to those of a woman. It was a sight that had Worley grin in return, showing a mouthful of grimy teeth when he finally turned to face the man.

"What be it to ye, laddie? A've little hour fer a pampered dog's games."
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Eying the dirty beast that he had chosen to talk to, Itami scoffed at the old man’s stab at an insult and grinning in amusement as he stared back at the pirate’s own crooked smile. “Oh yeah, a salty dog like you must be all sorts of busy, specially one as famous and wanted as you.” The mercenary said in a condescending sarcastic tone before knocking back a sizable gulp from his pitcher. “Not like I care about how you got so beat on a personal level, its more that I’d like to know what you did to get where you are today so I can do the opposite.” He went on, jeering at the old man openly, trying to force a reaction out of him.

Being in a bar fight had always been pretty high on Itami’s to do list, and this was the perfect opportunity to knock that out. Still though, actually throwing the first punch wasn’t something he was very interested in, which is a nice way of saying that on the inside, he was a bit too nervous and scared to actually go through with it. Fortunately, from what he had heard and read, places like this were veritable powder kegs for brawls and all it would take was one small dispute for a ripple effect to occur until the entire place was full of flying fists, blood, and teeth.

Even better was the fact that the likes of punches and bullets now did little to him after he ate that accursed fruit, though that was a secret he wasn’t going to admit, preferring to act like such things were a result of physical toughness. Swords would be the largest issue, though his studying of swordsmanship made that a non-issue in his mind. He couldn’t help but grin in anticipation as he waited for the pirate to make his move.
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"Ye must be mistaken, laddie. Nay a coin on me 'ead, an' I be famous? Yarharhar!" The unsanitary pirate laughed with a bellowing, raspy voice, drawing the attention of several customers around him who didn't initially realise where such a noise could have been coming from. When he had calmed down, albeit with a toothy grin still spread across his mug. "Tell me, matey: Who do I be?" With all that talk, surely he would have an answer? He couldn't just have been talking out of his rear, could he?

Of course he was, and Silver was fully aware he was. The kid was probably not even half his age, if that. His pirating exploits had likely taken place long before he was even born, his time in jail lasting nearly as long as the boy had been alive. For someone like that to know the identity of a crewman, not even a first mate of captain, then his information gathering skills had to be legendary.

"But ye don't look to be bailin'. I'll be tellin' ye me tales, laddie." The sudden knocking of wood might have startled some of the patrons who sat nearby, a sound that had come from the rotting wooden leg of the pirate being tapped against the floor. "Cannons took me leg ten years past." The hand that had been hidden in his coat up until then shot out to hover a few centimetres away from Itami's neck - a wooden stump where the hand had been, a rusting iron hook attached to the end. "Swashbucklin' 'alf a lifetime past lost me fingers."

The single eye of the silver-haired pirate relished in any surprise or shock that the boy might have shown, his prosthetic hand soon retreating back into his cloak. "Satisfied, laddie?"
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You do yourself a disservice by being so humble old timer,” Itami began to reply, smug smile masking his surprise that his comments hadn’t been immediately taken as fighting words. Still, he couldn’t let up now, not yet, “Anyone in here would be a liar if they said they’d never heard of you or whispered your name under hushed breaths, one that men fear and women melt at the mention of. We’re in the presence of Silverbeard the pirate!” He said the last bit overly loud to draw attention to them, slowly enunciating the cartoonishly fake name he had dubbed the old man with, one that you were more likely to read in a child’s story book than a wanted poster.

Even so, the pirate continued to impress the mercenary as he obliged his earlier request and carefully showed him the spots where the limbs where ripped from his body and how it had happened. Choking back feelings of regret for choosing this man to be his first target, Itami’s acting slipped if only for an instant by the slightest change of expression, one of sympathy that could easily be missed with the blink of an eye. No, this wasn’t the time to falter, he had to commit, to steel his mind and reject such weakness from his mind.

No.” he responded plainly to the pirate’s question, remaining silent for an overly long amount of time afterwards as he played with a golden coin in his hand, flipping it around and rippling it through his fingers before seemingly becoming bored and instead spinning it on the counter. Finally, he retrieved the trinket and pointed to the face etched into it, that of a grizzled man wearing an eye patch, though to the stereotypical pirate that sat beside him, it may as well have been a mirror. “Your eye.
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Worley's single glinted at the over-exaggerated depiction he had been given by the boy - hardly accurate in the slightest, but entertaining nonetheless. The greying pirate knew all too well that, ever since his recent release from that rotting prison on Saint Reia, his accomplishments had been almost null. All those years locked away without the open seas to stretch his legs on had withered him away, dragging him far from his prime when he would have had no trouble wiping out a squad of mountain bandits single-handedly. His influence in swift breeze completely dried up and the crews he had been a part of had faded out of fame, no doubt killed or captured as he had been. He had been reduced to petty thievery in order to gather the cash needed to hitch a ride all the way to the Grand Line, where he planned to grab at the first chance he could get at climbing his way back up to the top.

"Silverbeard? Yarharhar!" The wooden leg of his knocked against the floor once again, his yellow-toothed grin this time more excited than sinister. But still very scheming. "I fancy that, laddie!" Itami may not have realised that his words had sparked a fire in the blackened heart of the soon-to-be Silverbeard. If there were any name worth coating in fear, to be carried by the most menacing of all pirates, it was that. Even the other patrons, whose quiet murmuring and glances were enough to show that they had never heard of any Silverbeard, still showed hesitation in approaching or calling out. Or perhaps they simply considered it too comical to even bother considering it a threat?

"Me patch? 'Aven't ye heard yer fill? Charity'll only git ye so much. What's ye got fer me, laddie?"
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Yeah, I thought you’d get a kick out of that, old timer.” Itami shrugged with a snide grin at the response to the phony name he had given the pirate before pausing at the whole deal of the eye patch. At this point, he had had his fun, or rather lack thereof attempting to get under the skin of this man, and it seemed like it had all been in vain. The mercenary wasn’t getting anywhere fast trying to get Silverbeard to start a scene in this bar, given the man seemed like a true veteran past childish squabbles. No, if Itami wanted an all-out free for all in this seedy bar, he would have to make it himself.

I suppose you’re right, this is going nowhere fast and I haven’t really given you much either, have I?” He questioned with a laugh, taking a long drink from his pitcher of liquor. “I guess if I have anything to give, it’d be this.” The mercenary went on, slowly drawing the oversized sword from his back, the full length of the black sword over five feet long and a foot across, a veritable heap of raw iron that he managed to hold in one arm seemingly effortlessly. “It doesn’t have a name.” Itami explained as he admitted its form, twisting it slightly to catch a shimmer of light in the otherwise dark and smoky room.

At this point, the sign of placid bravado translated to a sign of aggression throughout the bar, the patrons warily watching the movements of this outrageous man as he flicked the sword down, holding it perpendicular to his body. “I came up with Silverbeard, maybe you can return the favor, old timer.” He grinned at the pirate as smacked over the adjacent table and the men who sat at it with the broadside of his blade. Chaos.
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"Ho...?" The grim pirate's expression darkened when the boy reached for the large blade on his back, drawing it slowly to ensure that its rather intimidating size was not missed. Unfortunately, the sound also drew the attention of some of the other tables nearby, who tensed up in preparation for what looked to be turning into some kind of brawl.

"No moniker? Tha's awfully careless... What blacksmith don't name thar steel?" He may have appeared to remain off-guard, but shrouded by the cloak his left hand had reached down by his side to touch against his cutlass: Ready to draw at a moment's notice, to parry whatever might have come his way. Similarly, the less intact right hand of his was fully prepared to flick out a flintlock, though it would have to be passed to his other hand in order to use it.

"I'd assist..." He continued, eyeing the large blade as it began to lower. "...but ye've gone 'n stirred thin's 'bout." The lump of iron crashed down on the adjacent table, wood splintering under its weight. The ones who had been sitting there already had the weapon in their sights, and so had little trouble moving out of its way... but were clearly not very pleased about the ordeal, when their mugs had been shattered and their ale spilled.

"Oi!" One of them, a short but bulky man, pointed towards Itami. "Ya better be ready ta pay!" His three other goons stood beside him, cracking their knuckles and drawing various crude weapons from their hips. With a yell, they charged towards Itami - simultaneously, the sound of smashing wood and shattering glass could be heard from elsewhere in the bar. Just one commotion had been enough to spark all of the eager flames scattered around the room, various shouts and grunts filling the air as the other smaller conflicts began to break out into full-blown fistfights.
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The smiths I’ve met are a boorish lot, I’m more a fan of a weapon that’s earned it’s name rather than been given it.” The mercenary smirked at Silverbeard’s little quip, doing his best to turn the salty dog’s words around in his favor. “Besides, I’m tired of small conquests, the kind of name I’m looking for isn’t one earned in a small skirmish, but-” he paused, swiping his sword horizontally at the once patrons that had now taken to assaulting him. “-True battle, full-blown war even.” He grunted as two men crumpled with a splash of red before him, Itami giving little thought to the irony of his statement given the current situation.

Oh no, I don’t expect you to assist at all, just sit right ther-” He went on, continuing to egg on the man despite knowing he was unlikely to respond, only to be cut off by what he could only describe as a springing sensation. It was a sort of dizzy feeling, as if he stayed still despite it looking like he was falling to the ground from his perspective before snapping back to his fully height. Glaring over his shoulder, the mercenary’s fears were all but confirmed by the terrified look of the man behind him who had apparently struck him in the back of his head with a club. Without a doubt, his shameful powers had come in full view, his neck stretching a good few feet from the impact of that hit.

Nothing.” Itami snarled at the quaking man, snatching a throwing dagger from his belt and snapping forward with it at remarkable speeds. “You. Saw. Nothing.” He reiterated, kicking the man’s side as he struggled to clasp his bleeding throat. With a sharp turn, the mercenary brandished his massive sword, face twisted into an on-edge glare in anticipation of the next round of assailants. “Especially you, old man. Your one eye is probably too shitty to make out anything in the first place.

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Edited by Tengu, Oct 4 2016, 09:41 AM.
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"A weapon workin' fer a name? Ye got a point thar, lad. 'Owever, then I'd 'ave to spy yer feats meself, ain't that right?" The pirate grinned darkly, lowering his voice. "A war, ye say? I'll look forward te that." A knowing glint flashed briefly in his eyes. It was clear as daylight the inexperience of the boy, bragging about his goals for "true battle" instead of a small skirmish - which was exactly what he had gotten himself into.

Edwards would have been quite happy just watching Itami eventually get himself beaten up, or even join in on it himself, had the mood not been completely broken by quite an unusual sight. One of the nameless criminals in the bar had managed to approach the teen from behind and crack him over the head with a club. It was exactly the sort of thing the greyed pirate had been expecting: A kid getting cocky about being able to defeat a couple of crooks, only to be brought down by the most basic of underhanded tactics to be utilised in common brawls.

Yet, that was not the case here. Itami was not knocked unconscious and left bleeding on the ground, but instead... only his head was sent down towards the ground. Still attached, too. The impact of the blow stretched his neck out like an elastic band, quickly snapping back into place as if nothing had happened!

For a moment, the grim pirate simply stared rather blankly at the scene - but a second later, he had burst into raspy laughter. "Yarharharhar! Tha's quite a power ye got there, laddie! Whad'ye call them... fruits o' tha sea-demon? Not much'a seafarer when ye ain't able te swim!" The darker, more serious tone that had been growing on him had softened up considerably from that bout of laughter, washing it down with a swig of rum that left a bit of froth on his bristly moustache.

"I'll show ye how me patchless side can spy, laddie." The hand resting by his belt began to slowly draw his cutlass, showing a glint of the blade through his thick coat.
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No, what you saw was nothing.” He growled at the old pirate as he thrust his sword down and grinded the point into the floorboards, anger and frustration rising. The blow from before had rattled him to his core, his head still ringing from the strike to his pride even if it had done little to his body. Worse still was the shitty old man’s taunting calmness, the calm demeanor and few words he used clashing with his wild youthful bravado. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not a pirate, I a h- A, a…” He stammered, the word hero creeping up his throat only for him to push it back down. A mentality like that was no way to prove himself in a place like this, and the notion of calling himself an anti-hero would make little sense in the first person.

No, I’m a, I, I am…” He pushed back his hair as his other hand tightly gripped the handle of his blade, patrons not fighting amongst themselves watching the brooding man and his odd apparent powers. Huffing in frustration as he racked his brain for the words to say, the mercenary suddenly grinned as if he was struck by an epiphany. “Heh, I guess that doesn’t really matter in the first place. A soldier of fortune needs to know nothing more than his blade and how to follow the scent of coins.” He shrugged, hefting the blade up to his shoulder as he sneered at Silverbeard.

But if this is a question of your one eye and beaten blade versus me, well, that’s something I’m willing to do for free!” Itami snarled as he thrust his blade down once more, splintering the floorboards a bit too much to be considered normal. The creaks and snaps that followed suit would only give the two men a fraction of a second’s notice before the timber broke beneath their feet, sending the two men toppling down into the grimy darkness below, scantly placed orange stones that dimly lit the apparent basement the only source of light aside from the small beam that trickled in from above.

"Ugh, what... what the fuck is this?"
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