((This character has already been approved as Shichi, but he needs a "proving" thread of sorts. Gael was going to work with me on this, but unfortunately real life obligations are making that impossible for him right now. If I could trouble a mod to help me in his place, I'd be mightily obliged. I'll PM you the details if you're interested in helping me get this guy his Shichi on.))
The docks on Gunsmoke Island never shut down; even in the dead of night, lit only by moon and midnight oil, they were bustling with activity. Among the world's premier ship-building islands, the island was home to a number of wild dock towns where the law existed only in your holster, where peace existed in the speed and accuracy of your draw. Beneath the pale light of the moon and the wild flickering lamps, hundreds of men and women worked tirelessly as the world around them slept, producing some of the finest and most advanced ships that would ever sail the blues. Ships came and left from the island's many docks, undaunted by the darkness; nobody looked twice at the small black trimaran as it slid silently into port, a bank of fog heralding it's arrival.
"Don't get to see fog too often on these summer islands," one of the dock workers commented to another. "Back home up in North Blue, you learned to see in it like it was clear as diamonds."
"Don't you ever quit your yakking?" the man answered in a good-natured tone. "Nobody cares if you came from North Blue, or from the peak of Mount Foreverest for that matter!"
"Just saying, is all. It's kinda nice. Reminds me of home."
"You are home," the second responded, rolling his eyes. "Besides, doesn't look like there's too much of it."
True to the man's word, the fog seemed to begin - and end - with the recently arrived vessel. Noticing this and thinking it odd, the two men took a break from their ropework to stare at the odd sight. The older man from North blue scratched his chin, cocking an eyebrow.
"Come to think of it-"
The man cut off in mid sentence when, from that same fog which spilled out from ship's topside, covered the water and the dock besides it, a human form seemed to materialize. Both of the shipwrights stared in unison; it was only when they realized that it was, in fact, an ordinary human and not some spook that they took a breath, putting their smiles back on and walking towards the figure.
The man was tall - abnormally so - standing well above the two workers. Mist seemed to seep from his back, crawl along the ground at his feet, chilling the air until the shipwrights could see their own breath. He was clothed in white from head to toe, his hair white as his clothes, his skin pale enough to look almost white. In the moonlight, standing on the dark docks, the stranger in white surrounded by his mist seemed almost to glow with his own ethereal light. The younger of the two was the first to greet the stranger, offering him a friendly wave in spite of his obvious oddity.
"Welcome to Gunsmoke," the chatty worker said. "Birthplace of the Super-Steam Turbine Express Tun-"
"Marine base," the man stated succinctly, his voice deep and resonating with a hard edge. The worker, whom he'd cut off, looked to his companion in confusion.
"There..." the older man began speaking, shaking his head and pausing for some reason even he couldn't explain. "There's no Marine base on Gunsmoke."
The trio stood there in the cold dark for a while, in silence, the sounds of workers up and down along the port all around them unable to penetrate the chilling atmosphere that had accompanied the man in white. After a short moment, the stranger's ice-blue eyes settled on the older man. Both of the locals were surprised when, of all things, the man let out a single, harsh laugh.
"Gunsmoke island they tell me," Shiv stated, walking forward, the two stepping out of his way without command. "Come to Gunsmoke, talk to marines. Help fix problem, alright, alright." His footsteps echoed in the silence that followed him, the only sound the mist-shrouded stranger made after he'd stopped talking.
Once he'd cleared the dock, Shiv reached into one of his coat pockets and pulled out a baby Den-Den. The poor creature's skin was blue, icicles hanging from it's eyestalks and mouth, rime coating it's shell, shivering madly in the soon-to-be-ex pirate's grip. Lifting it to his mouth, he poked the thing's side and began to speak.
"It's me," he stated plainly, feeling no further introduction was required. "Am at Gunsmoke. The locals say is no Marine base..."
There was a pause, the Den-Den's face taking on a stern, square-jawed appearance.
"We have an agent posted in town waiting for you. Captain Hennings. Meet him at The Keelhaul, just outside of Southport. He has further instructions."
"Understood," Shiv answered simply, dropping the frigid baby snail into his pocket. Drawing looks from everywhere, up and down the dock, the white behemoth walked to town with his slow, measured pace, seemingly unaware of the frantic ship-building going on around him. If he noticed the looks he was drawing, he made no sign. The Devourer was here on business; none of these mice mattered.
He had no hunger for mice. Promise of larger prey awaited.
Mon Apr 11, 2011 6:01 am