Picking Fights [Open]

[YOSHIRO MIFUNE]

Wandering through the streets, an elderly man hobbled along as his cane made a clacking noise against the concrete. There wasn't anything particularly unusual about the old man - there were plenty of old men around the town who needed a cane to walk. All in all, it was a fairly typical sight. Nothing out of the ordinary. Which is probably why no one ever realized that he was, in fact, a Pirate with a Bounty on his head. It was remarkably simple. How many old Pirates were there? How many lived to be 78? Very few. Most didn't make it out of their forties. But he'd lived, and he'd managed to survive without too much trouble. Of course, nowadays he was on his own. Just him and his cane.

Unfortunately, when your name didn't inspire that kind of infamy anymore, young punks started thinking they could take you on. Case in point, right now. Just as the old man wandered around a corner, there stood three such "Punks" standing before him, each with a cocky smirk on his face. The old man glowered. Oh how he hated when they got like this. One, a lanky, scrawny fellow, had a knife in his hand whilst the other two looked bigger and tougher. One was bald, one had a dirty blonde mohawk. Both looked big and strong. The knife-wielding punk strode up smugly and raised the knife in a lazy gesture pointing at the old man's face.

"Can I help you?" he asked grumpily, sounding more like someone had mixed up his order at a restaurant than someone who was being held at knifepoint. The young punk narrowed his eyes into slits and smirked wider, but he looked more than a little ticked off by the comment. As if he was expecting some kind of fear. Not this reaction. Of course, Mifune had nothing to fear. There were only three of them, and he had his cane in his hand. In a second, this punk's hand would be severed from the rest of him if he dared show even a moment of weakness. That was the plan, at any rate.

"Help us...?" the punk remarked irritably. "I think it's freakin' obvious... Hand over yer wallet, ol' man!".

[Clay-Jay]

Maybe there were one too many drinks floating around in Clay's stomach, but he couldn't seem to muster the balance he usually had as he clambered down the street of Loguetown. His sword dragged on the concrete making a steady scraping noise which seemed to echo through the quiet night, making his head ring a little bit. Luckily the cold night air was waking him up with each second out. He needed a quick break though, and took a small lean against a building while watching an old man hobble down the street. Old people shouldn't be out this late. It's dangerous around here, and the elderly were in some serious levels of vulnerability. Straightening his little marine hat and brushing off his uniform, Clay-jay started to move on the man protectively, but it seemed that 3 nice young men were already taking care of it.

They were anything less than pleasant looking however as Clay took better note of their appearance. The only right way to address them would be, "Hey punks." Which of course Clay did without consideration of how they might react to seeing a Marine standing in their line of sight. Pulling his sword up onto his shoulder, Clay strutted as best he could forward, taking a place next to his elderly ward. Looking up to the three thugs through his slick little sunglasses, Clay waited for them to make a move, as the scrawny man's knife remained where it was. It sure was hard to see with these sunglasses on though, so Clay couldn't quite tell what his facial expression was. Or even if the four other people had even made notice of his entrance on the scene.

[YOSHIRO MIFUNE]

The knife-wielding punk simply stared at the old man. He'd said something, hadn't he? So why didn't his mouth move? It only occurred to the punk a moment later that this old man had not been the one to speak. Instead, looking past him, he stared incredulously at a sight he hadn't expected.

Likewise, the old man turned his gaze to see just who had spoken. Only, perhaps he should have made that "What". There, standing by him, was a raccoon - a fairly big one, he might add - but a raccoon nonetheless. Wearing a Marine uniform with a pair of shades covering his eyes and a large blade about four feet long. Yoshiro had seen quite a lot of things in his days. Talking raccoons were not among them. His mind wandered to the possibility of a Devil Fruit, but considering the way this raccoon moved about and maintained his raccoon state at all times, he couldn't help but wonder if this was indeed a talking raccoon. Before he could say anything, he heard the three punks suddenly break into laughter.

Well. Obviously these three found a talking raccoon hilarious.

"Ha! How cute! Is this your pet, old man? Hey, that's some pretty good ventriloquism there! Think you're so clever dressing him up like a Marine?!" the knife man clearly didn't take this seriously.

"This would hardly be the time, brat," the old man remarked. Yoshiro didn't fear a lot. A knife at the throat, held by some upstart like one of these three? Nothing. He'd seen far more intimidating sights. A knife seemed fairly boring, mundane even. It seemed at this point the trio were beginning to stop laughing. Well, at least that got them to shut up. Now however the two larger guys were moving around to the side where the raccoon was. It seemed a fight was becoming inevitable now. The lanky, skinny knife man let out an irritated growl as at once he lunged forwards with the knife. The perfect excuse.

It was almost like a flash. Drawing his blade from his cane, the old man deflected the knife before he'd even fully drawn the blade. All of a sudden the knife man backtracked, staring in surprise. Such was Yoshiro's drawing ability. Now holding the cane sword in one hand, the rest of the cane in the other, Yoshiro looked around at the trio. It was clear from their expressions that none expected the sword. Nevertheless, they didn't quit easily. One of the two large guys now moved forwards, intending to kick the raccoon out of the way to proceed towards Yoshiro. The bald guy drew out a sword and stepped in as the knife man backed away and Yoshiro proceeded to clash swords with the bald guy. Well, hopefully the Marine would take care of the other big guy. The knife-wielder didn't seem interested in jumping back into the fight.

"My apologies officer, I hadn't intended to get you involved with this..." the old man remarked. Well, now it was two young punks versus an old man and an animal. He liked these odds.

[Clay-Jay]

For a minute there it looked like Clay was going to be forced to speak up again, as the people obviously hadn't seen his short furry body as he came up. Then it started, just like it always did when Clay stepped onto the scene. The laughter. Always the laughing, disrespecting him right to his face like the marine uniform he wore meant nothing to them. All three of them were no good hooligan street trash, and they had the gull to make fun of Clay-Jay, Petty Officer of the Marines? His shades hid the rage that was building up in his eyes. Burning passion that made the hair on his body stand up as tightened the grip on his sword, "About time to lay the smack down on your punk ass." Before he could move however, his aged temporary partner flashed out his sword, the cane that was in his hands now apart and battle ready.

More so than Clay himself, this move surprised the three punks which had started their move to surround the duo before the knife had been dashed from their, Clay assumed, leader. He wasn't going to let the senior citizen take charge though, Clay was ready for some action too. Probably made a bit more emotional due to the alcohol which was still present in his little fluffy body. They had laughed at him, and like all those who laughed at him before, they would be lucky if they could laugh at anything after he was done with them.

The leader backing out of the fight left the two larger of the three pieces of trash to take on an old man and a furry animal. These guys were pathetic. As the leg came around, looking for what appeared to be an easy victory, Clay swung his sword down in front of him, wielding it horizontally with blade forward. Sidestepping the kick, he charged forward with all his might to drive the sword into his his opponents non-kicking leg. "Come on down to my level sucka!" He spat as the blade made way to his kneecap.

[YOSHIRO MIFUNE]

Yoshiro stared down the bald man before him as their blades remained locked against one another's. Well, if he was going to be allowed a one-on-one fight, he didn't have to worry about any distractions. Sure, it had been many years since he'd once been an active pirate, but when you picked up a sword and learned how to swing it, you never really forgot how to use it. He didn't care if he wasn't in his prime any more. He knew he'd long since passed that point. But he was still a pirate, dammit, and he'd be damned if some young punks got one up on him just because of a silly thing like age. In spite of himself, he gave a little smirk, chuckling amusedly to himself as he stared down the bald man. That seemed to grab his attention.

"Something funny?" the bald man growled. Strengthening his grip on the hilt of his sword he pushed with greater might and swung, forcing Yoshiro to step backwards to avoid the force of the swing. Still holding his blade up and at the ready, the old man kept a cool, confident look about him. He didn't fear this punk, and just because he was physically weaker didn't mean he was weak. The bald man brought his blade up and now moved to swing downwards with great force. Yoshiro simply kept on smirking as he stepped forwards. His opponent was strong, but his swings were far, far too big. Using his cane sword to smack against the side of the descending sword whilst he sidestepped, he managed to just slightly throw off it's course. Then, before his opponent could react, he sliced open his side with a follow-up strike, forcing the bald man to step back, incredulous as he clutched the wound with one hand. But now he just looked angrier.

"Well now, come on. I haven't got all day, brat," the old man teased him. He still had that boastful streak in him.

In the meantime, the other man with the mohawk found that his opponent wasn't just a pushover like he thought. Finding his foot hitting empty air, he suddenly felt a strike against his other leg, forcing him downwards against his will onto his knees. He let out a pained grunt as he dropped down, only to see the raccoon with his blade responsible for it. He glowered. He'd thought he was a pushover, but he'd be damned if this raccoon got the one-up on him. Grabbing a pair of spiked knuckle-dusters, he slipped them onto his right hand and pushed off of his uninjured leg to try and smash his fist into the raccoon's furry face. He was kind of pissed off at being humiliated by an animal.

[Clay-Jay]

They always underestimate the little guy, it's something that the muscle-headed beasts couldn't avoid no matter how intelligent in Clay's experience. This one was no different so far, but it was when they actually started trying that things got difficult for the still pretty inexperienced raccoon. His opponent went down like the hobbled weakling he was, his leg near unusable now from the vicious charge of Clay's sword. Suddenly distracted by the smooth sword-play style of Old Man, Clay watched near entranced behind his black shades. There was something up with this civilian. He was far too good of a fighter to be just a random nobody who wandered into three punks. A bounty hunter maybe? It didn't matter, the man didn't break any laws by just walking around. Honestly, Clay wasn't sure he could do anything if the man had.

The battle was nearly won anyways. Now all he had to do was incapacitate the street urchin and drag him back to the authorities before- Oh god he's attacking! Clay had lost his focus and almost took a hard metal knuckle right to the cuteness that was his face, but luckily managed to avoid it for the most part, taking a strike to the shoulder as he spun around, the fist going past. His shoulder screamed in pain, but Clay managed to keep his mouth clenched shut to avoid looking weak in front of present company.

He was now nearly right in the man's face, his fluffy tail smack the man across the eyes as a distraction for his follow up to the maneuver. completing his full turn, Clay stood with his head pulled far back before slamming it forward into his enemie's skull with a powerful headbutt. Clay was sure it would be regrettable in the morning as it added the head pressure to his hangover.

[YOSHIRO MIFUNE]

"Stay still!" the bald man growled as he swung horizontally at the old man. Yoshiro, quick on his feet as always, managed to back away from the man before he was cleaved in two. He had to admit, it was slightly impressive he was swinging around a huge, heavy sword like that with one hand whilst the other clutched his wound, but his breathing was heavier and his eyes were blinded with fury. In the old man's not quite humble opinion, this wasn't going to last too long. A thrashing beast could only last so long before he had to give up the ghost. Bringing his blade back up, the large man bellowed in anger as he stabbed forwards with the blade, looking to run the old man through.

Clashing his blade against the side, Yoshiro ran his blade along the surface of the bald man's sword. Eventually, as he reached the end of the blade he brought his sword back up and swiped at the man's face. Slightly quicker this time he side-stepped just enough to only receive a graze on the cheek. Furiously swinging back, Yoshiro saw an opening. Ducking beneath the large blade, the old man made one last swipe at the man's leg, cutting deep through his thigh. Letting out a pained grunt the large man fell to the ground, unable to stand on the leg. Standing upright, the old man stepped forwards and raised his sword to the man's face, his eyes staring down threateningly as the tip danced dangerously in front of the man's throat.

"I won't kill a punk like you, but if you get up again, I might think twice," he told him, frowning before kicking him across the face for good measure. That seemed to do the trick, because he was now unconscious. The blood loss and pain probably helped. Stepping past the fallen punk and looking towards the scrawny guy who had held him at knifepoint earlier. Now he looked positively terrified. The old man smirked. He liked it better that way.

In the meantime, the other strongman smirked as his fist smashed into the raccoon's shoulder. But the moment he did so, the raccoon was back and ready to attack. The mohawk man was about to punch him again, but the raccoon's tail smacked into his face. It didn't hurt, but the raccoon hair in his mouth tasted disgusting and he took a moment to spit rather disgustedly, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. That was all the opening the raccoon needed, because a sudden headbutt smashed into his nose, busting it open and knocking the man unconscious as he fell backwards. A humiliating defeat if there ever was one.

[Clay-Jay]

Head a little foggy from the headbutt, Clay sort of stumbled his way over to the old man, bumping his shoulder into the man's leg accidentally. The pain was almost instant, but Clay, like a man, again managed to clench his mouth shut and only let out a quick sigh. Damn, how hard had that man punched him? If anything was broken he'd make sure the entire group of thugs got the smallest cells. Seeing as how both the muscle men were down, Clay turned his attention to the last of them. Slender man was terrified, and rightfully so. After all, he just saw a raccoon and old man take down his only two reasons for staying alive in this town. Most likely. "Time to go to you new cell, Slender Man." That was the name Clay settled on for this one. He was like creepy scrawny and dirty.

Leveling his sword so that the end pointed at Slender Man's stomach, Clay looked up to the old man. "Yours?" The sword was starting to get heavy for Clay, it wasn't meant to be held with one hand, and his shoulder was not going to hold up carrying the thing for too long. It was amazing though how well the old man took care of himself, Clay probably wasn't even needed here and he ended up with a damaged shoulder. Shit man, no more going out vigilante style at night. He wasn't good enough for this street justice stuff. He hadn't noticed that his glasses were broken from the headbutt, left in pieces on the ground in front of his conquest. The pain in his eyes was visible now, from both his pounding head and throbbing shoulder.

[YOSHIRO MIFUNE]

The so-called Slender Man stared incredulously as both of his men were defeated. But it wasn't just that - not only were they defeated, they were defeated by a raccoon and an old man. These opponents, he reasoned, should have been easy picking! Weaklings! Who would have thought that a raccoon, even a raccoon armed with a sword, could be such a threat? Or that an old man walking around with a cane could so effortlessly take down one of his men? He grit his teeth, taking a step back. This was bad. Very bad. He couldn't let it go on like this. He had to run and escape, fast, but with these two giving chase it would be a problem. Dammit, he didn't want to go to jail like this!

"Looks like he's ready to wet his diaper. If you don't mind, Officer, I think I can handle him myself," Yoshiro remarked as he strode forwards unflinchingly. Carrying his blade firmly in his hand, he began to speed up before breaking out into a run after the Slender Man. Slender Man was ready to run, but before he did so he decided not to run without slowing the old man down - reaching behind himself, he grasped a pistol and tugged it out, now raising his arm upwards with the pistol firmly in his grip. He smirked, believing himself to be completely untouchable with a gun in his hand. Unfortunately, he made a mistake. It took less time for the old man to close the distance than it did for such a hesitant fighter to draw his pistol.

A single stroke decided it. Cleaving through the man's chest and shoulder, a line of blood splattered on the ground in front of him. Slender Man, losing his breath, could do nothing as he faded out of consciousness, collapsing backwards on the cold, hard ground as the pain coursed through his body. It was clear he wasn't a real fighter - this incredible sensation of pain was unbearable to him. He wasn't able to tough it out like real fighters his age could. No, instead he let himself drop from blood loss and pain. Flicking his sword to remove the blood from the blade, the old man sighed as he clutched his own chest. Damn, he was out of practice. He felt worn and tired from such a short fiasco. His breathing was harder. Still, he shook his head. There was no reason to dwell on it. Turning back to the Marine, he spoke again.

"I suppose if I were a Marine, I'd say something to the effect of 'Justice prevails'. In any case, thanks for the help, Officer," he remarked. Well, if there was ever one team-up he hadn't expected, it was one with a Marine. He was fortunate no one recognized him.

[Clay-Jay]

Clay had no doubt that such an experienced fighter could handle this cowardly Slender Man all by himself. It was still strange to see him move so fast for his age, slicing Slendy's chest as if it was nothing before he could even thing about shooting off his gun. Clay dug his sword into the ground and watched the whole thing happen while leaning on it, needing a quick break to catch his breath. The final battle was a bit anti-climactic, but there wasn't much else to expect when it came to awesome VS pathetic. And this old man was the epitome of awesome in Clay's eyes. As the blood flicked from his new idol's sword, Clay quickly equipped his spare pair of shades to hide the admiration in his eyes. "Ice cold."

Obviously the fight had taken it's toll on both of the under dogs, and as Clay put his sword away back on his hip, he offered his hand to the old man. "No, you ain't a Marine. But you got the skills to be one of the best. What's your name dog? Where did you learn to cut it up like that? Shit man." As a model Marine, Clay had to try and recruit someone of this caliber to the team. He may not have a fleet right now, but there were still recruitment officers he could take the man to. It would be a shame to end the partnership so soon.

[YOSHIRO MIFUNE]

Returning the sword to the cane-scabbard, his weapon was once again concealed as an old man's cane, devoid of any sign of a threat. Well, that was one advantage to people not knowing who you were - it made it much easier to deal with them when they underestimated you. Plus it meant he could walk about in broad daylight without any Marines being the wiser. At the very least, this Marine hadn't quite yet figured out who he was, which was a good thing in his books. He walked back down towards the raccoon, inspecting him with a critical eye as the raccoon offered him praise and compliments, remarking how he had so much potential. Momentarily letting his ego soak in the compliments, the old man turned to him.

"The name's Yoshiro, and I decline. Aside from punishing upstart brats for trying to mess with me, I haven't got any interest in clearing the streets of crime," he remarked. He probably should have used a fake name, he thought to himself in hindsight, but this Marine probably didn't know him anyway. He seemed green. Still, it didn't mean he didn't have some skill. "Besides, I'm an old man. Better for younglings like yourself to take care of those problems. I've only been fighting for five minutes and I'm feeling tired," he remarked, though he seemed a bit bitter about it. He could still remember his prime. Punks like that wouldn't have even dared to stay on the same island as him. He'd grown soft, he acknowledged with some irritation.

"I'm getting the distinct impression you aren't a Zoan, anyway. Here I thought I'd seen it all, but a talking animal is new," he remarked, eying the raccoon. He didn't speak condescendingly, but was instead simply surprised a raccoon could speak. "You talk far more like a Human, in any case. As for how I learned... Well, let's just say I'm well-travelled. You learn a lot of things when you get to 78 years old," he remarked, refusing to explain further. He couldn't exactly just admit to being a former Pirate to a Marine right here and now. Although admittedly, the 'former' status was debatable. He was looking to head back out on one last journey.

[Clay-Jay]

Yoshiro? Sounded familiar, but then again, there were probably lots of people around with names like that. Clay wasn't going to try and figure out how many, his head hurt too much for that right now. Note to self, hold back on the headbutting. Not wanting to clear the streets of crime though was certainly strange though. What kind of upstanding citizen didn't want to help rid the world of scum like pirates, bandits, and bounty hunters? All of them were just too money hungry to let run around unhindered. "True that old boy. Work on that stamina problem, I don't think I could carry you to a doctor if you passed out." A little rude to say, but hey, it was true. Clay didn't even know if there was a doctor around these parts.

"My body is all natural. Picked up a few habits from the humans back home before joining up." Clay stood with pride at the memory of his ascent to being a more intelligent being. It had been a long time since he was a normal raccoon running around the forest with his little pack of woodland critters. They had all kinds of shenanigans, playing tricks on the humans and other animals. In some ways he missed those days, but his true calling was always to be a marine. "78 years is a long time to be travelling, where exactly have you been around? different blues?" There was something strange about the way Yoshiro acted when it came to talking about the past. He wouldn't dig too deep at the moment, mostly out of fear he'd have to fight the guy and neither of them seemed like they were in the right condition for another scrap. It was getting to be too late too, Clay would have to head back home and keep looking for a fleet to join eventually.

[YOSHIRO MIFUNE]

"I will,"

he remarked with a little bit of a glower. True, he had been the one to admit to it first, but it didn't change the fact that hearing someone remark on his low stamina was rather annoying. Of course, he was a proud man - aged and withered, but nevertheless proud. He didn't like admitting his problems, and he disliked hearing other people commenting on them even more. Still, he wasn't exactly angry. Just grumpy. All in all, he was a grouchy old man living a grouchy lifestyle. If ever he found something to complain about, complain about it he would, even if it was minor and unimportant. Listening close as the raccoon spoke of himself, he raised a brow.

"So you learned to speak through mimicry... Well, even for mimicry, I suppose you deserve credit. I hadn't even heard of a talking animal beyond some kind of Zoan before..." Yoshiro remarked. The fact he could act, walk and talk like a Human purely through mimicry alone was impressive. He just took all of Humanity and adapted himself to it with no one to teach him. Or at least, Yoshiro assumed no one taught him. It was unlikely anyone would just sit down one day, take out a text book and start teaching a raccoon basic English. Especially considering how the raccoon even seemed to pick up on such colloquialisms and nuances of the English language. Not that he was that impressed, of course.

"I was a Navigator in my youth. I helped sail more than a few vessels across these seas in my time. Probably more than you've seen, let alone ridden on," he remarked. Well, it wasn't completely untrue. He'd been on more than a few ships in his time. He'd navigated his way to all sorts of places. When you had an uncanny knack for predicting the weather and dictating a ship's course, you were quickly sought for your talents. On these blues, being able to navigate was a highly-valued skill. "In any case, there's no point holding myself up here. Never know when another rowdy punk gets a bright idea around here," he remarked as he began to walk again, his cane clacking against the ground. Well, he had to leave quick, before the Marine caught on. Fortunately he could still just pin it on wanting to get home before some more muggers showed up.

[Clay-Jay]

Mimicry was one way to say how it was done, but Clay preferred to think he was just too awesome to be kept around simply as a cute nobody raccoon in the great saga that was the universe. His awesomeness was to the level of ascending into main character status and sitting there, blocking all others from achieving said level. Not until they went through him at least. Truly it was destiny that brought him the ability to be humanoid. He wouldn't voice this opinion though, lest the side characters get jealous and start to attack him. Not that they could do much, but it would be horrible for his image. "I'm just that awesome." He replied with a deep breath, literally swelling with pride.

"You know. I don't see a lot of navigators that get skilled enough at fighting to handle themselves. At least not any civilian ones." The word pirate was looming on the tip of Clay's tongue, but he just couldn't say it for some reason. Maybe it was fear that he could be wrong and get the old man all up and agitated. He didn't need, 'I gave an old man a heart attack.' on his resume. or maybe he just didn't want it to be true. Either way, saying the word was impossible now. Hinting at it however...

"I'm sure you'll be fine alone, dog. You've gone this long without being caught after all. Mad props." Silently turning his back, Clay started to walk the opposite direction. He was going the completely wrong way to get back to his little home, but following would ruin the mood. "Just stay retired. It's safer yo. Peace." Like someone of that caliber would be afraid of any random mugger. He should be afraid of the marines though, most weren't like Clay was. He didn't want the guy to break a hip killing one of Clay's comrades.