[b]Marine Base E-55, East Blue[/b]

“Top of the morning!”

“Oh, Vice Admiral! It’s great to see you!”

“There’s a surprise room inspection today, don’t forget to hide those dirty mags.”

“Huh!?”

“Oh I’m just joshing ya. The look on your face was gold. Gold! You never know though.”

Still chortling at his joke at a young Seaman Recruit, Vice-Admiral Cholkin, his goatee slooped into a curl, his mustache trailing like a pair of streamers, slipped into his office. Hanging his justice coat on the rack, he was a bit dressed down, wearing only a light blue dress shirt and dark blue suit pants. Placing a tray of donuts and orange slices down on his desk with the paper, the man also known as Seiryu, the Blue Wind, took a seat, grabbing a donut to munch a he looked out a large window to the Marine base below, a number of hearty seamen at work in transferring supplies from ship to storage and vice versa, engaging in training drills, or mending one bit of damage or another. Whipping open the day’s newspaper, he reclined in his chair as he took note of the happenings around the world.
[hr][b]Licera Island, home of the Rokin Kingdom, North Blue[/b]

Pillars of marble rose through the throne room, the fifteen foot ceiling rather low for such an important chamber. Two forms marched through the black and gold marble, cool lighting shed by various lanterns. At the end of their path was a raised level, a 6 foot stairwell leading to a pond of blankets and pillows in all manner of warm colors, a skylight shining from above with the midday sun Trembling in the comfy throne was the full bearded, stern faced, and sweaty king, wearing a poofy red garb with a black and gold sash. King Stephan Ford Bolderone wiped his sweat, looking about. “Lucy? My darling?”

The two figures at the bottom of the steps stalled. The one at the lead had a scar straight across the forehead of his square shaped skull, like his head was once cut open. Shirt striped with purple and black, a long, moss green overcoat nearly reaching the ground, pirate captain Adam “Earthwalker” [58 million beri] let his hand twitch, uncomfortably close to his sword, a metal wire stretched across the back ridge of the blade and coiled around a section of the hilt, like a fishing rod. Nicky “Nightingale” [17.7 million beri] stood at his side, one pistol in his dark blue sash and the other twirling in his hand, his hair growing like a nest of feathers. “Lucy, please!” Bolderone begged.

[color=8223f7]“They’re so [i]scary[/i], aren’t they~”[/color] came a voice from the back. From a passage leading elsewhere in the palace, soft footsteps marked a path to the king. Bolderone let out a sigh of relief, resting his head in the lap of his wife as she took a seat, lithe hand stroking the side of his face as if he were a wee babe. Robes of black and white, silvery strands woven in to give the faint pattern of a spider’s web, long black hair flowing out onto the cushioned throne area, [url=https://i.imgur.com/Rx01ASQ.png]Mahonia Lucille’s[/url] pale yellow eyes glowed in the light, her dark red lips taking a smile of certainty as she met the glares of the Funk Reborn Pirates. [color=8223f7]“Wonderful work with Topelia. With income like this, maybe we can go back to paying the Heavenly Tribute after all. Perhaps I could even arrange to have your bounties annulled?”[/color]

Adam grunted, seemingly displeased at something or other, while Nicky stepped forward. “You...you don’t get it at all, do you!?” Griped tightening on his flintlock, he stalked forwards, watching the smile fade from Lucille’s face. “It doesn’t matter if the bounties are a pain in the ass, they’re...they’re a sign of our freedom!” Raising his gun, he pointed it at the infamous Witch of Webs, who only lowered her head, continuing to soothe the infantile king as he started to panic. “And what more are you going to take away from us!?”

Lucille didn’t respond, so Nicky steadied his hand, only to notice as there was a glint of iron across his vision. In disbelief, he started to turn, just as he was reeled in. Adam pulled him in, the iron wire cutting into his throat and drawing blood, the back of his blade against the side of his neck. Pistol dropping, he floundered, trying to pull it off. “H-how!? You didn’t even-” Looking back at his captain, the man was covered in sweat, his teeth grinding against one another, tears of frustration forming in his eyes.

[color=8223f7]“You should take him and go, before Rokki Road decides only one of you is leaving. Get him proper treatment, and come back in an hour for your next set of orders.”[/color] At the Witch’s words, Adam released his sword, taking his comrade by the shoulders and helping him back the way they came, red blood glistening on the ground behind them. The liquid reflected no smile of Lucille’s as she cooed to her husband, the man starting to calm down now that the room was clear. “How did you do that? I was so worried…”

[color=8223f7]“Never you mind. All that matters is that we’re safe now. Everything will be just fine…”[/color]
[hr][b]Pol Stictid, South Blue[/b]

“HEY, POL STICTID, LISTEN UP. IT’S HAPPENIN’ IN A FLASH SO DON’T YOU MISS IT! IT’S THE GRIME- KING-, THAT’S RIGHT, THE MAN HIMSELF! REMINDING THE WORLD WHAT REALLY MATTERS!” Taking up the full frame of a Visual Den Den Mushi’s projection, a twelve foot tall man in overalls with goggles and a handlebar mustache, standing in front of a large wooden ‘X’. The city skyline in deep night stretched behind them, the vertically built labyrinth of the island making ebbs of lit structures with flows of wooden walkways. And chained to the X was a man in black slacks, bleeding from a number of wounds, his arms raised and body limp.

“This dead man hanging was found by the Liver Pirates. They thought it was weird that he talked to himself while on the john but turns out he was only ‘talking shit’!” laughed Dupree [Grime King’s producer, no bounty]. Across the island, a number of crowds burst into their own echoes, a ripple of hateful glee spreading across the island. “It’s supposed to come out the other end, pal!” Dupree laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder, the spy letting out a groan of agony.

Stalking back over to the Visual Den Den Mushi, Dupree crouched down. “Now, I know you’re gonna miss me, but as long as these Government bastards keep messing with us, I’ll be back again and again! Now...give it up for...THE GRIME KIIIIIIING!” The whole 20 mile island erupted into a roar, Dupree moving aside as a rather small man, barely 6 feet (and only because of the top hat crowning his head) took the stage. Collar high, he tugged at his white ascot, the embellished peacoat dark, with dim teal buttons. Sprouting from the sides of his head were a pair of ram like horns, and his face was covered in a heavy gas mask. Turquoise eyes shone across the screens of the island as the man raised the microphone in his gloved hand. Twisted through the modified gas mask, his yell was beyond human. Like an iron whistle crossed with fallen glass scraping across stone. Hands fell back from ears when the call of rage subsided, for [url=https://i.imgur.com/W97hChN.jpg]Radigan[/url] had much more to say.

[color=78cdc7]“Money money money! Makes the world go round, so you Government folk always say.”[/color] Even twisted by the tinny reverberations of the gasmask, his words were no song, yet he spoke them with a sense of rhythm and melody that enraptured. [color=78cdc7]“Your world, your rules, I say, so money money money is all it takes. Need a pirate dead? Or alive, so they can cut of the head and watch it fall as it may?”[/color]

“MONEY MONEY MONEY!” cried the pirates.

[color=78cdc7]“Want to gain power: superhuman, at the cost of your love from the sea?”[/color] he raised his hand, the fingertips releasing an uncertain dark liquid.

“MONEY MONEY MONEY!” cried the smugglers.

[color=78cdc7]“Want to be a king? But not a cool one, like me.”[/color]

“MONEY MONEY MONEY!” cried the loan sharks.

The singsong sense of his voice fell away, his words becoming gravelly. [color=78cdc7]“So, we flip the script! I wanted to be a king, so I just said that I was! Want to have access to my power? Just live here, nothing special. And if you find a Government rat, no offense to the rodent, then I’ll give you-”[/color] Radigan whipped out a flintlock, aiming it at the crucified Cipher Pol operative.

“Please! I have money! I have a wife and daughter!” he pleaded.

Radigan stayed his trigger finger. [color=78cdc7]“Oh, you’re offering to sell your wife and kids? You’re messed up guy! And here I thought we were shitty.”[/color]

“N-no, I mean-”

[color=78cdc7]“It’s too late, I already made a promise to the Liver Pirates who gave me this rat. They’re gonna get some-”[/color] The man cried out as Radigan fired, punctuating each word with a bullet, the crowd joining him. [color=78cdc7]“MONEY MONEY MONEY!”[/color]

As the man’s body went cold, so did the energy built up from the public execution, the visual feed switching off as the men of the island went to their usual scuffles, scams, and shady stints. Dupree came up, following Radigan as he walked off, taking the unneeded pistol. “That was banging! One of these days you’re going to bring the island down from sheer hype! Anyway, next time we get a Marine, instead of the usual ‘loyal dog’ line I was thinking we could liken them to puppets, or hey, maybe put those pipes of yours to work and try a song for a change!”

Radigan stopped dead, Dupree’s face falling in light confusion. [color=78cdc7]“I am [b]not[/b] [i]singing[/i]. Bring that up again and your fired.”[/color] Dupree went pale, but Radigan continued onward, [color=78cdc7]“Otherwise, that sounds wonderful,”[/color] Radigan asserted, a certain fatigue in his voice. [color=78cdc7]“Though maybe those government types could learn a lesson for a damn change.”[/color]
[hr][b]Olive Island, West Blue[/b]

The light of the sunset was red. Olive Island had been known for its lush, verdant fields, ideal for countless crops, not just those of the island’s namesake. The neutral island was a pleasant, quiet place, enough so that many a nearby kingdom offered their passive protections, the folk able to live in peace without king or Marine base of their own, just a humble mayor working to ensure his people were fed, shelters, and educated. But now, smoke filled the sky as building burned. Those who’d stood up to fight had been felled, the sun reflecting their fall.

Atop a massive warhorse, clad in an armor curiass made of interlocked copper plates, helm protruding with two large horns sticking out then up, Yunxing D-Q [General Taurus of the Tianyan 12] held a hefty dadao blade, the back of the curved edge resting on his shoulder. Coming off of his mount, he stooped down to a figure resting against the side of the building, a thin balding man with glasses clutching a knife with white knuckles, blood running down the side of his head.

“Holding onto your weapon even as you die? To think a farming village would be so stubborn. Are you going to burn your crops as well?”

Mayor Gerald chortled, “And deprive a few more mouths of the last prized olives this island will ever grow? Though I suppose the smoke has already ruined the taste.”

Snarling, D-Q demanded, “Why did you start a fight you could never win!? Is this senseless loss of life what you wanted!?”

Despite everything, Gerald smiled. “We know what your Empire does to islands it conquers. Even if you chase down everyone who escaped, you’ll never find them all.” Looking to the smoke filled sky, he said, “I was a lad when this city was founded. I watched it grow into something I knew I could be proud of my whole life.” Gerald stopped for a moment, hacking up a mouthful of blood, the arrow in his shoulder having gone deep. “The people who ran from here will have this place in their hearts for the rest of their lives, even if you stomp it out here and now.”

“Pride? I only know pride in what I live for, not in what I might die for.”

“I know. I know you’d never understand. You’re not much older than 20, are you? Tell me, where were you born? Where does your name come from?”

D-Q was indignant. “I made it into the Yunxing dynasty through my strength and riding abilities! Do not mock the name of the Yunxing!”

Gerald shook his head. “Just a dynasty, are you?” D-Q gritted his teeth, but there was nothing more to say, as Gerald bowed his head, finishing, “There’s a jar of olives on the back shelf. Try one. Know what you tried to destroy, and remember that despite it all, you could never crush our pride as Olive Islanders.” Going slack, his breathing continued to slow. Within a minute or so, it would stop, forever.

D-Q stood, putting his hand on the neck of his trusted steed, but before going back into the fray, he could not stop himself. Entering the house, he found the promised shelf, where green olives stuffed with garlic cloves were jarred. The man who didn’t know why he’d been called ‘D-Q’ tried one, and thought it was one of the most interesting and unique flavors he’d ever experienced. It was the first trophy of his conquest he took no pride in.
[hr][b]Marine Base E-55, East Blue[/b]

“Whew…” Cholkin, the Blue Wind, let out a low whistle as he put down the newspaper. Picking up his last orange slice as he stood, taking a bite as he stepped toward the wide window, it was more sour than sweet. Maybe that was the result of all the chilling news he’d just read from across the world. Maybe the sweetness of the donut he’d just snacked on made the orange less tasty in the mix of flavors that lacked synergy. But either way, it was a lesson he would carry forward for the rest of his life: try a different fruit with the donuts. Banana, probably. Or perhaps strawberries. No citrus, except citrus flavored donuts, those were still fine.

BAMBAMBAM. Cholkin felt his heart jump out of his chest as there was a banging on the door. “What? What is it!?”

“Sir! There’s an emergency!”

Cholkin jumped to his feet. “What!? Is it witches!? Criminal scum? Imperialism!?”

“No sir! You remember how it’s supposed to be Taco Tuesday in the mess hall tonight?” called the Seaman messenger from the other side of the door.

Cholkin gave a grave nod, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Remembering that his conversation partner couldn’t see through walls, Cholkin said, “Yes?”

“A rat got into all the cheese! We won’t have any cheese to go with the tacos!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Despite hopes and prayers, the East Blue was not without its woes after all...