#blackswamp

               ‘ ohh ? i’ll take that as a challenge.                                     let’s have a competition on the next island, ’ 

              gesturing a finger from him and then to her, 

     “Hmm... ... ... You seem so much younger than your poster suggests...,”  said Rear Admiral Lyra in a bemused tone, looking from the Wanted poster in her hand to the young lady standing in front of her. So this was the Pitch Witch, as they called her. Supposedly, she knew all manner of occultist skills --- rumor had it that she was a real witch, with powers beyond just her Devil Fruit.

     Lyra and her battleship was here on this island to arrest and capture a few pirate crews rumored to be here, notably not the Straw Hats --- they were the task of another Rear Admiral here. 

     She folded up the wanted poster and put it away in her pocket, keeping both her hands in her pockets where she stood, leaned against a beam that held up the covered porch of a tavern by the harbor. Her coat cloaked her shoulders, and her saber harmlessly remained in her scabbard.

     “You and your friends aren’t causing trouble here, right?” 

     Of course they were. The Straw Hats caused trouble wherever they went.

     another island, another place to stay hidden, but at the same time it was practically what he did growing up so kaku wasn’t all knew to this situation. however, he never thought he’d be hiding from the government still after two years--least he could catch a break and drink at the local bar.

     so, with a glass of liquor, he started to sip as he panned the joint only for his eyes to fall on the strawhats astrologist.

     Lulubelle is a variable pressed in between the eldest man in the corning enjoying a meal and the large, imposing pirate group making an unthinkable amount of ruckus in the other. Each went about their routine, seemingly unperturbed by the other. A paper and a small drink in opposing hands, sitting at the bar without worry looking over the details the articles the day prior had left out. Always something missing, never an honest word inked in. In some life perhaps the blonde would be surprised, but the experience no longer strikes her as interesting. Monotony was a moat dug out around a bright and shining castle, the borders of which are filled with rolling grasslands and luscious plains. Where there are times to find solace in the familiar, a golden bird cannot help but constantly yearn for the sky from the exposed root skimming the murky water’s surface. A third day of this similar process gone undisturbed leaves much to be desired .

     Yet the calm still shifts. Gently, just as a breeze pushes open swinging doors. While others are about their business, Lulubelle casts a small glance over her shoulder to the raven-haired woman now within a place clashed with multiple worlds. It was just as good a place as any to gather information about a place from barkeeps and locals. In truth it was a rather dangerous thing for a pretty face to wander up to the counter on their own amidst a drunken party. She’s hardly the one to judge solely on appearance alone, but the bother of dealing with unwanted attention is unwelcoming even to the strongest, most independent individuals. As if instinct had suddenly come calling, a man wanders to take a seat next to the blonde and is soon halted in his place .

      ❝ Ah-ah. ❞ Like a finger wagged in denial, a wing sprouts from shoulder blades to shroud the empty stool at her side. ❝ I’m afraid this spot’s taken, my good sir. Might I suggest a nice seat further down that way?  ❞ A gesture of feathers to the countless open places. An unclear mind agrees wordlessly and shuffles away, the influx of plumage disappearing as quick as it had revealed itself . 

     Just like that, the seat becomes available once more, and Lulubelle calmly beckons the stranger over to take it whenever she so chooses. From there it would be the easiest to look into the freshest news she has since grown tired of, or flag down the barkeep if necessary. Far better to have a sense of more comforting company than those currently uncertain of what day and age they’re living in .

      ❝ Don’t worry, they’re harmless. ❞ She offers the other regardless of whether or not she decides to approach. ❝ They’re three sheets to the wind and wholly enamored with their recent trip across the sea. You’d sooner see them trip over the floorboards than cause a scene . ❞

      ❝ Damn it, that didn’t work at all! ❞ Perhaps it’s the lack of a proper cola break or deep- rooted humiliation not fit for a true man. His voice shakes, displeased, an equal mix of intolerance and disappointment. It was for this very reason many tools of the trade were already embedded in his body. But he wanted to believe!  ❝ I can’t believe he pulled one over one me! The sly bastard ... ❞

     A mumble low as distant thunder scraping debris from the ground. With no flesh to pierce, those hands made an acceptable place to sweep up glass and other unpleasant prickles without any concern for safety. The clean up is only disrupted by approach, posture straightened with an attempt to bear neutrality as he turns to meet cherry red eyes and curious quirks of the brow .

      ❝ Oh, Paloma. Good timing. ❞ Equally as unfortunate, considering the mess in his hands and a visual look of utter disdain only defined by a pencil-lined mouth. Bent nail in a board hangs loose as it’s flicked out and into the accumulating pile by the small yellow digits of his detailing hand. ❝ This is one of the flimsiest hammers I’ve ever used! You heard the guy, right? He said it was the strongest one he's ever had. I could’ve snapped it in half with my pinky . ❞

     While rather eccentric, Franky saw himself as a serious man. Intricacies were important when it came to proper craftsmanship. The very thought one would go to such lengths to make a fool out of a shipwright left a sourness in the pit of his stomach. Would be that the balance of things soon regained itself by punishing the deserving, but so often had it felt as though such justice no longer existed. The feeling buries itself with the opportunity presented. He offers the remains of the tool to her while cycling through the possibilities of how to further approach the last of the task at hand .

      ❝ I know you can tar up your hands and carry it safely, so I trust you with it. Could you take all that somewhere else for me? I don’t want anybody to step on it . ❞

@blackswamp​: “You were out finding trouble, again.” ( sanji! ).:[ hope it's okay still to send in! ]:.

— lonesome dreams starters