Barreling down on Sancho, Cormac's cleaver chopped through the air, but before it found a cushion of wool, a long leafy blade slipped in near the hilt, stopping it dead.

Stem sprouting from his wrist and snapping off as he continued to hold off the cleaver, Hamel began, "[i]4th[/i] Division?" Free hand scratching his cheek, he wondered, "What about the other three?" A smile of recognition coming to his face, he said, "Unless they're coming."

Cormac grunted, eyes locked onto his stuck cleaver, before he growled, "They're beyond you! The rest of the Doom Pirates are sailing the Grand Line!"

Hamel sighed, "Aw, bummer. [i]You're[/i] the toughest one here?" His hand reached down to scratch his rear.

Cormac blinked, "Huh? I said you'd get tanned, didn't I?"

"Huh? Sancho'll tan you, yeah, I guess."

Confusion being overwritten by a flash of red, Cormac growled, "I'm more than enough First Mate for you!" Lifting his knife, he cut sideways but Hamel ducked underneath before springing upwards once the knife sailed overhead. Flipping, he shot a kick out to Cormac's chin, staggering him backwards before landing on his back, rolling away, barreling into Sancho, tripping as the two stumbled into a heap.

"Haha. Whoops."

"You..." Cormac hissed, his men readying an assault.

Sancho trying to get up from on top of him, Hamel laid there, a blank look on his face as he wondered, "Why are pirates here if they're supposed to be protected?"