RIOT! [mini arc]

[HOTARU SATSUMA]

The small town that will soon descend into total chaos is mapped out above. The total playable area will be 100 meters long by 80, with each square covering an area of 10 square feet, or a little over 3 square meters. A dense forest surrounds the village, with the only direct ways out being down the roads. The numbered buildings are establishments in the city and are outlined below. The un numbered houses are residential.

• 1) The town hall. Normally home to the town mayor, a marine Captain and a sizable force now occupy the largest building in the town.
  
  
• 2) Police Station. This building has also been taken over by the marines. There is an armory here as well as a few jail cells holding the old mayor, the sheriff, and a few other ‘important’ civilians.
  
  
• 3) This is the town square. A completely open space save for the fountain in the middle. Usually used as a gathering place, most important events in the town occur here.
  
  
• 4) Lumber House. Being a densely forested area, this village makes extra money by selling timber. The extra boards, logs, and raw wood material is stored here to keep out of the weather.
  
  
• 5) This is the town Inn. With room for a few horses in the stable, this cozy hostel has room for 6 visitors in the village and is barely ever filled to capacity.
  
  
• 6) Tavern. The unofficial gathering place for the locals, the tavern plays host to almost the entire population in the evening. Stocked with alcohol for hundreds, this establishment continues to be popular and is often the scene of brawls between marines and civilians.
  
  
• 7) General Store. A small place for produce and other dried goods, a shipment of goods is brought in twice a week from a larger city. Prices are a bit more expensive, but it’s more convenient for the locals.
  
  
• 8) Brew House. A generally empty building stocked with large wooden barrels that hold the alcohol supply. This building is kept under lock and key and is owned by the bar next door.
  
  
• 9)Bakery. Though normally always stocked with fresh bread, this tiny shop is having trouble keeping up with demands due to the new population increase.
  
  
• 10) Blacksmith. From swords to horseshoes to nails, the metal workers in the blacksmith shop keep the town from falling apart. Though not many conventional weapons can be found here, creative wielders of hammers, tongs, and other oddly shaped implements could easily hold up inside for protection if food was secured beforehand.
  
  
• 11) Doctors Office. Though normally quiet, the rise in conflicts has filled the small clinic’s bed space almost to capacity. Equipped with basic medical supplies, this small hospital can treat all but the most serious injuries and diseases.
  
  
• 12) Butcher Shop. The local meat cutter, this shop is home to the fresh meat supply of the town. A small arsenal of knives are also found here.

You may be anywhere within the town for your posts, but be realistic. Posting order will be set after the first round, with my IC post coming last. Begin.

[Manfred S. Eisenhand]

The monstrous fishman, Manfren Eisenhand, truly seemed out of place as his thick, blue fingers danced along the strings of his oak lute. Standing at six feet and eleven inches, he towered even above man beyond average height. A series of fins covered his skull and back, their color of an orange hue, gleaming as the light of Tavern’s lanterns fell upon them. Not only the massive figure, blue skins, and fins gave this man an utterly inhuman appearance, but also the lack of legs. Instead, Manfred possessed a lengthy tail extending outward one and a half meters, slithering from side to side with every step.

An auburn tunic, cut to accommodate for his tail, covered the lower half of his body, its color a stark contrast to that of his fins. Lacking anything to cover the upper body, his finely defined physique was revealed in full, with tined abdomen and bulky arms. As the light of the moon softly fell onto Manfred through the Tavern’s windows, his crimson eyes shifted warily – not out of paranoia, but a slightly nervousness that registered in his senses. The fishman performed this evening.

Dancing along the lute, his fingers created a soft tune, the sweet song beginning at a low pitch, gradually working its way up, single notes combined to form a grandiose melody. At first, the song was soft, but each tone grew mighty as Manfred was in the middle of his ballad.

"Blade in hand, the man glanced upon the beast,
Leaping forth from the depths, the king began his fist,
Sharpened teeth, hungering gut,
Without fear, the sailor began his rebut.

Blade in hand, the man glanced upon the beast,
Swung the metal, he was certain, this will be his feast,
He fought and fought, refused to yield,
Fighting, he shall be his crews shield.”

[/i]

Despite Manfred’s monstrous appearance, his voice was surprisingly soft, unfitting of a man of such statute. The fishman sang his words sweetly, eyes shifting from side to side to watch for the crowd’s reaction. He knew not why he found himself here – perhaps it was simply the love of music, the compulsion to perform. Yes, he was nervous, even somewhat afraid of the consequences of a bad performance. Still, here he felt at home, before the crowds.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/font]

[THOMAS C. FARRELL]

[atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign, top][atrb=style,background-color:6C2811;][atrb=width,100,true] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 120px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]TAGGED:: none[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]WORDS:: 797[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]MUSE:: let's get it on.[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]NOTES:: ----[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -1px; text-transform: uppercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]BY ROTOSCOPE of BTN[/style]

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px solid #C3C3C3; float: left; margin-top: 5px; margin-left: -65px; background-image: url(http://i218.photobucket.com/albums/cc34/RyuHasigawa/Decorated%20images/1-1.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 60px;] [/style][STYLE=text-shadow: #efefef -1px -1px 0px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 9pt; color: #C3C3C3; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 2px; margin-top: 33px;]If Life is a Web of Stories,[/style][atrb=style,background-color:C3C3C3; border-bottom: 6px solid #6C2811;][atrb=width,456,true][STYLE=line-height: 17px; border-bottom: 2px solid #6D110A; padding-right: 4px; font-family: georgia; font-weight:bolder; text-style:italic; font-size: 19pt; color: #6D110A; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-bottom: -16px; text-shadow: #efefef -1px -1px 0px; margin-right: 5px;]Then I'm the Spider.[/style][STYLE=margin-top: -7px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; margin: 10px; padding: 7px; text-align: justify; color: #312C18;border-bottom: 2px solid #6C2811;]The Lyneel Kingdom. It has served well for many a traveler seeking to escape their problems in the beautiful landscape it presented. It also served to present many a change in the comings and goings of those who lived there, what with more and more people seeking their fortunes, each claiming that they were going to be the ones to overcome the Grand Line. All of them claiming, and none of them having the gumption in the end to even put together a crew. There were those who didn't seek such fortunes as what those pirates claimed. Instead, they sought refuge from a past they could not bear. Others sought revenge against those who took away such blissful pasts, or parents, or loved ones. However there was one thing in common. Each person here had a story of his or her own to share. However, among such interesting stories, there were some that would be lost among the web that was constantly being created. This is simply the perspective of one of those stories. Already lost to the web, the young man of twenty-two kept to himself, seated in the corner of the tavern. He didn't like crowds. They made him feel nervous and insignificant among the mass of bodies. Taverns were typically good places to be. They didn't hold many people, and whoever they did hold typically kept to themselves. Unless he was on a job or something that forced him to interact, and whenever he did interact, it usually ended in the damaging of public property that he simply couldn't pay for. Though it was against his morals, he felt there was no other choice in the matter but to flee or risk being indebted to whoever was in question doing the accusing. Of course, this did wonders to his bounty. Six million beli? He had thought to himself. To think that vase was worth the price of six pirate's heads. I might just turn myself in for the reward. However, he reasoned that if he turned himself in, the money would probably be confiscated and never even reach him in the first place. Thomas sighed, his head drooping a little as he looked into his water cup. Yes, water. Alcohol never sat well with Thomas. It effected him greatly, and it was his belief that self-control was the essence of a swordsman. To ever not be in control of oneself left room for error. And to err on the side of immorality was never an option. To one looking at the youth, it would be clear that he was a traveler. The weather-proof cape he wore seemed to be worn out from years of wandering from place to place. It could also be seen that he was a swordsman. The rapier hanging at his side, protruding from the cape would give that fact away in a heartbeat. Less well known was the golden earring that he wore on his left ear. To those who lived in the North Blue, it was a token of mastery in the way of the sword obtained by the people of Shimikatsu Village. To everyone else it was just a pretty piece of jewelry that might be worth something to someone somewhere. Whatever the case, whether or not anybody present knew the significance behind the symbol, they would all have heard about the incident at Shimikatsu Village. How the Marines had slaughtered most the men and some of the women and children, leaving the village crippled and dying. It was rumored that the Village received the Marines with open arms and in the night attempted to gut them in their sleep. It was also rumored that the Marines attempted to recruit the warriors into the World Government and upon refusal, slaughtered them to set an example as to what happens to those who oppose the World Government. However, rumors were simply that, and no one truly knew the reason, nor could anyone say why one would be here. Thomas was the young man's name. and his steel blue eyes never left the cup he was looking down at, listening to the musician who was playing the soothing music. It was calming. It had the effect of allowing the warrior to clear his mind and to simply revel in the music being played. Every once in a while his eyes would stray from the cup to look up at the fishman playing or to acknowledge the presence of the waitress coming around to refill his cup, always whispering a small "Thank you." as she poured. Even though he was among those who thought such pleasantries were frivolous, the swordsman still believed that such words held a power of their own, just like the music being played.[/style]

[HOTARU SATSUMA]

The dim lights reflected off of the glossy finish of her fingernails as she impatiently tapped the wooden bar, waiting for the bartender to indulge her strongest vice. The bar was almost to capacity, which Hotaru attributed to the time. Most patrons had spent late afternoon working, shopping, or spending time with loved ones. The time had come to forget about life's ships, at least for the night. The pirate captain was one of the only people who seemed to be keeping to herself, her violet eyes wandering around the room as she looked for any sign of a useful addition to her crew.

A dark haired man a few chairs down from her took a long drag from his cigarette before popping a few warped smoke rings into the air. The whispy remains of the tobacco floated above the small tea candle burning in a glass globe between a few spent lowball glasses containing some half melted ice cubes and what Hotaru knew was the diluted remains of cheap scotch. The smell of burnt tobacco, while ever present in most taverns, was even stronger now.

Her hand wanders from the bar to the left side of her head, finding a stray curl that hadnt been pulled into place earlier that day. After smoothing her fingers over the troubling lock of hair a few times, she gives up on disciplining it and simply tucks it behind her ear. The bartender finally makes her way to the young woman and an order was placed. Single malt whiskey. Neat.

The pricey liquor was poured in a small glass and smile accompanied by a grateful nod is given in exchange for the beverage. The caramel colored alcohol was carefully swirled around the glass a few times before being lifted to her lips. A small mouthful of whiskey slides between them, igniting her tastebuds before trickling down her throat, accompanied by an intense burn that slowly turns into a comforting warmth surrounding what felt to be her heart. With a slow exhale, Hotaru placed the glass back onto the bar, the rim of the container darkened by her lipstick; a permanent kiss, etched in glass.

The strangeness of her order combined with how effortlessly it was consumed had drawn the attention of a few of the closer patrons, garnering mostly looks of confusion, admiration, or some combination between the two. Her amethyst eyes bounced between her onlookers, and without a change in expression, another mouthful of her drink found it’s way down her throat. Most of the audience seemed to have lost the novelty of watching a young woman drink like a hardened criminal and had returned to their own devices. However, the smoking man’s gaze still lingered on Hotaru.

Saying nothing, the burly man took a long draw on his cigarette, the cherry on the tip flaring bright red as air flooded through the tobacco and rolled paper stick. The young woman’s face, which had been stoic up until now, contorted into a mask meaning to convey something along the lines of ‘can I help you?’. Getting the message after a few seconds, the scorn man tossed a wad of cash into the bar before flicking his cigarette into a nearby ash tray. As he departed, her face returned to an expressionless state after her lips briefly curling into a smirk. The air in the tavern settled and the comfortable sensation of bar 'white noise' took over again. At least, for now.

Over the crowds jumbled conversations, the sound of a lute some how managed to drift just above the noise level. It's source was a monstrous fishman who had managed to secure a spot in the corner to perform. At this point, he was the only one in the tavern who stood out, though only because of his size and the fact that he was playing an instrument.

What a waste...

Hotaru thought with a sigh.

[Igrath J. Indigo]

For the most part it was a typical evening within the walls of the bar, save for the three outsiders that were stuck in the middle. It was unfortunate for them to have chosen this day to visit, for hell was about to be unleashed upon them. The majority of the group within the bar were civilians, but there were a few off-duty marines taking advantage of their authority. Normally the air would be thick with the bubbling hatred between them, but this day it was covered for now by the performance of the fishman. That is, it was until the incident occurred and changed everything in one solitary moment.

Outside in the streets an unknown shadowy figure stood, smoke curling from the ember of his cigar. It was the only source of light that touched his features until a gloved hand removed it from his mouth and touched the glowing ember to the tip of a fuse. A sizzling began as the black powder ingrained in the fuse took light and traveled to the end. With great strength he hurled the black sphere it was attached to through the window of the tavern, the sound of shattering glass drowning out all else. The patrons turned to see the shattered glass and the landing of the object, the bartender identifying it with a shout.

"BO-OMB!"

No one knew who had thrown it, but a panic ensued, the sounds of shattering glass as people dropped their drinks and rushed for the entrance. People fought each other to escape and the marines were among them, until a few people hit them over the head with whatever blunt objects they could get their hands on. The fuse continued to sizzle, but no citizens even paid any attention to it anymore. They attacked whoever was in their way to make it to the door with fist or bottle and even a few chair legs.

Everyone wanted to escape before the supposed bomb exploded.

[Manfred S. Eisenhand]

Manfred’s crimson eye drifted over towards Hotaru, his monstrous face strangely amused as his lips formed into a narrow smile – or a mocking imitation of a smile; this was a beast after all, his figure and expression a wicked combination of dragonfish and man. The song came to a pause for a moment as Manfred attempted to stare into the woman’s eyes, fingers continuing their delicate dance over the lute. The melody grew softer as the fishman continued to sing, voice growing quiet, almost a whisper.

“And then the last stepped forth, sat in a seat most tender
Nails long, lips subtle, figure slender,
Pour a glass, liquor sweet and strong,
Amongst this song, in this tavern, you belong.”

[/i]

A sudden clash tore the fishman back into his senses as he dropped his lute, song coming to an end. Glass shattered and a black sphere fell onto the grounds, Manfred instinctively recoiling, right fist clenched. With heavy breaths his crimson eyes shifted left and right, observing the scene of chaos . Manfred knelt down to retrieve the lute, grasping it tightly before he took another glance at the scene.

These men and women felt complete and utter fear – death, after all, is truly dreadful, and when faced with it the mind begins to wander down an utterly impulsive path. With a mighty tone, Manfred spoke. ”Calm yourselves. You only worsen this chaos. If you do not calm, you all –will- die.”[/i] The fishman’s fingers resumed their dance over the lute’s string as he wove another melody, this one much more serene.

It was a petty attempt at calming the crowd with a tranquil tune. Beginning at a high pitch, the melody gradually grew quieter as it matched Manfred’s quiet hum. Bravely –or rather, foolishly- Manfred remained standing in the tavern, melody reaching its high pitch again in an attempt to drown out the yelping of the fleeing crowd. After several moments, the fishman strapped the lute to his back and stood fully erect.

At six feet and eleven inches he was sure to stand above any member of the fleeing mob, granting him a better oversight. With his left hand, Manfred unsheathed the ebony hilted blade from the side, veins pulsating with the tight grip. With serrated edges, the blade appeared rather intimidating – utterly horrifying, rather, for it seemed to be a work of bad craftsmanship, yet it was crafted delicately with sharp edges.
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/font]

[THOMAS C. FARRELL]

[atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign, top][atrb=style,background-color:6C2811;][atrb=width,100,true] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 120px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]TAGGED:: none[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]WORDS:: 369[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]MUSE:: pumped.[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]NOTES:: none[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -1px; text-transform: uppercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]BY ROTOSCOPE of BTN[/style]

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px solid #C3C3C3; float: left; margin-top: 5px; margin-left: -65px; background-image: url(http://i218.photobucket.com/albums/cc34/RyuHasigawa/Decorated%20images/1-1.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 60px;] [/style][STYLE=text-shadow: #efefef -1px -1px 0px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 9pt; color: #C3C3C3; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 2px; margin-top: 33px;]Tick-Tock Tick-Tock[/style][atrb=style,background-color:C3C3C3; border-bottom: 6px solid #6C2811;][atrb=width,456,true][STYLE=line-height: 17px; border-bottom: 2px solid #6D110A; padding-right: 4px; font-family: georgia; font-weight:bolder; text-style:italic; font-size: 19pt; color: #6D110A; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-bottom: -16px; text-shadow: #efefef -1px -1px 0px; margin-right: 5px;]Let the Countdown Begin![/style][STYLE=margin-top: -7px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; margin: 10px; padding: 7px; text-align: justify; color: #312C18;border-bottom: 2px solid #6C2811;]There was only a single word that could describe what happened in a mere instant. Chaos. At first, there was only the sound of something sizzling. Next, there was the terrified yells and screams of people running, attempting to get out. Who threw the first punch? Thomas couldn't have cared less, but this is exactly what he'd expected of Marines. With a heavy sigh, the swordsman stood from his table, the music having changed to a more pleading tune. All these people... "Disrespectful!" He said harshly to himself, though the noise of the others in the tavern easily drowned him out, he was hoping that they would simply calm themselves in the presence of this threat. To no avail. "I suppose there's no choice." He sighed to himself, his right hand pulling out his Rapier. Though he was more of a threat now, it was better than sitting and waiting for someone to notice him. There were several choices he had at the moment. Get out of the Tavern as everyone else was doing. This would preserve himself yet leave the others still brawling to be blown to pieces by the bomb. His second option was to find the bomb and remove the instigator from the equation, calming the tavern down. Third option was to leave the premises immediately and look for the person who threw the bomb into the tavern. Because there were people here who had committed no sin, such as the bartender himself or any of the waitresses, he couldn't simply leave with a good conscience, nor could he chase after the one who'd thrown the bomb into the tavern in the first place. He'd just have to tackle the problem one step at a time. The first task would be to find the bomb in this mess. That was the easy part. Listen for the hissing and follow the sound. He only hoped there would be enough time... He started this task immediately. He would keep close to the wall, making his way around toward the bar. Because the Barkeep had been the first to identify it, Thomas had the idea that it was somewhere up front. Hopefully it didn't get lost in the mess...[/style]

[HOTARU SATSUMA]

The sound of shattering glass crackled over the sounds of the voices, and her eyes caught a black sphere trailing sparks flying through the window.

shit.

Knocking back the remaining whiskey in her glass, the container was set back on the bar and Hotaru prepared for chaos. From her position at the back of the room, there was absolutely no way she would escape through the front door, especially since everyone in front of her seemed to be taking their sweet time getting to the door.

With her swords secured to her person, Hotaru went against the grain and looked for another way out. Most bars had a storeroom, which is where Hotaru would move as fast as she could to duck inside. Hopefully safe inside, she would close the door tightly behind her. Roof access would be a common feature of these rooms, and if it was granted, she would ascend to the top of the bar, looking for some way to block further access to her position, either through jamming the door, pulling up a ladder, or otherwise baracading herself on the other side of the commotion.

If she was unable to find an escape route, she would coil up behind the bar and plug her ears, guarding herself from the oncoming blast. With her safety up in the air, she was in just as much danger as everyone else. However, at least she was prepared.

[/blockquote]

[Igrath J. Indigo]

The chaos and panic from within brought a smile to the smoking man's lips as he faded into the shadows. Soon a crowd would be passing him and he slipped in without a second glance, the people that were still inside were in for a surprise. He had more plans to make as he watched from a safe location, a riot was about to start and he wanted front row seats. The people that had already escaped were rushing home to tell their friends and neighbors about the attack. No one knew about the attack, and all would blame a rival faction for it, the crowds slowly grew.

Inside the bar, however, the people continued fighting to get out, the sound of the lute doing nothing to calm them. The fishman's efforts were all in vain, Thomas would find himself in quite a different situation. He had found the bomb which he had been searching for, but the fuse had already burned down to almost nothing. There was no time. Hotaru would be in the middle of closing the door to her store room when the bomb blow.

This was no ordinary explosion, there was no massive Kaboom or fire, it was just a simple blast of air pressure. The people would find themselves falling over each other from the blast, some struck by shards of glass. Thomas would take the worst of it as the blast flung him onto a table ten feet or so back, covered in dishes of half eaten food. Manfred was not in such a bad position, but he was still at risk as well as shards of glass from several beer mugs flew at him. Hotaru, having gone for cover like a sensible person, would find the door slamming back on her much quicker than expected.

Within the store room there was a ladder leading up to the roof, but it was not one that could be pulled up. The trap door which lead out had a latch, but it was on the inside, and she would have a difficult time barricading it from the roof. Meanwhile, inside the bar the people who had been knocked down staggered to their feet and outside, heading to their faction hideouts. The rage filled crowds were building and would soon clash.

[Manfred S. Eisenhand]

Manfred, utterly frustrated, began to grumble gutturally, a deep, wretched tone of frustration and exhaustion leaving his lips. The fishman stared at the scene of utter chaos in shock; his voice could not calm the mob, what else could, then? He feared for his own safety for Manfred was quite out of place here as a blue-finned fishman, but thankfully –for him- it seemed as if the citizen and marines were too occupied with a desperate attempt to escape.

Manfred was no sensible man. He was slightly arrogant, overly confient in the abilities of his voice even if the previous nervousness suggested otherwise. The fishman was certain that his voice would calm the situation, but in the enthralling act of letting free his voice, Manfred lost thoughts of the bomb – as foolish as that may sound. The blast of air pressure send him toppling, but that was not all.

In an adrenaline-induced fit, he let go of his blade and dropped to the ground, avoiding some of the glass shards but other still struck, tearing into his skin to leave several cuts, bleeding but not fatal. On the grounds he glanced upwards, crimson eyes searching for anything of note.

[/justify][/font]

[THOMAS C. FARRELL]

[atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign, top][atrb=style,background-color:6C2811;][atrb=width,100,true] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 120px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]TAGGED:: Hotaru[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]WORDS:: 674[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]MUSE:: Ouch[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; text-transform: lowercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]NOTES:: tagged Hotaru only if she stays in the storage area. If she moves, she'll no longer be where Thomas goes.[/style] [STYLE=background-color: C3C3C3; width: 114px; padding: 5px; color: 312C18; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -1px; text-transform: uppercase; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -10px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 30px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 30px;]BY ROTOSCOPE of BTN[/style]

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px solid #C3C3C3; float: left; margin-top: 5px; margin-left: -65px; background-image: url(http://i218.photobucket.com/albums/cc34/RyuHasigawa/Decorated%20images/1-1.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 60px;] [/style][STYLE=text-shadow: #efefef -1px -1px 0px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 9pt; color: #C3C3C3; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 2px; margin-top: 33px;]In war, there is only One Rule.[/style][atrb=style,background-color:C3C3C3; border-bottom: 6px solid #6C2811;][atrb=width,456,true][STYLE=line-height: 17px; border-bottom: 2px solid #6D110A; padding-right: 4px; font-family: georgia; font-weight:bolder; text-style:italic; font-size: 19pt; color: #6D110A; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-bottom: -16px; text-shadow: #efefef -1px -1px 0px; margin-right: 5px;]Don't Die.[/style][STYLE=margin-top: -7px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; margin: 10px; padding: 7px; text-align: justify; color: #312C18;border-bottom: 2px solid #6C2811;]It was as he imagined, as he drew closer to the front, the hissing got louder. Though he was in more danger, it was a small price to pay if he was able to reach it before it detonated, perhaps being able to throw it out of the tavern. It was far too crowded, however, for Thomas to see much of anything. He was positive it was close by, but he couldn't-- On the floor, as several fighting bodies fell to the side, he caught a glimpse of a glowing hot waxed string. Without thinking about himself, he swerved past the people on the ground, thrashing with one another, toward the bomb. It was just in front of him, and the fuse had reached its end. He felt his gut tighten as for a moment, the hissing stopped. All at once, a wall of air hit him as he raised his hands to shield his face. The pressure was great enough to lift him up off the floor, his cape being billowed straight back before his body followed. Heavily, he landed on something solid. He didn't hear the crack as the table's legs broke under his weight. However he did feel the sensation of falling for a moment before being jolted off to the side. Something was ringing in his ears as he blinked up at the ceiling. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't dead and that whatever it was that hit him had created a big enough force to knock him backward a fair distance. Looking back at what broke his fall, he saw a slanted table, two of its legs broken, creating a triangle with the ground. There was a mess of plates and cups sprawled further back and his sword was still grasped in his hand. Sitting up, he felt the ache of his body as though he'd just run into a wall. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't keep going, but he wasn't feeling too great either. Forcing himself up, he noticed that he was one of the first to recover among the civilians who'd also been knocked down. Taking advantage of the temporary peace that came from the aftershock, he looked toward the door that he'd noticed close just before the bomb exploded. At least the bartender escaped the blast... or so he hoped. A moan reached his ears that drew his eyes. A Marine was laying on the ground not far from himself, his ears bleeding and his eyes staring up at the sky. Thomas wasn't sure if he was dead or not, but he didn't look that good. Aside from that, the man's clothes were relatively clean, unlike Thomas' that had been splattered in food and drink. Actually, this man looked to be about Thomas' size himself, meaning that Thomas would actually be able to pick him up. "You're a man of the people?" Thomas muttered to himself while sheathing the blade, preparing himself Thomas would grab the Marine and lift him up in the fireman's carry. "Then I suppose it's only right..." He said, carrying him away back toward the door that had closed just before the explosion. It seemed to have held, so perhaps that would be a safe place to hang out while he assessed the situation. There would be time enough afterward to find the culprit of this mess and to bring him down. It was a little bit of trouble, carrying the man behind the counter and to the wooden door. Not to mention a little difficult to open while supporting this man. However, Thomas managed somehow, dropping the man inside and bending down next to him. He still seemed out of it, pale as a ghost and his eyes were still open. Thomas wasn't a doctor, but even he could tell by now that he'd probably hit his head too hard on the floor. Whether it was from the brawling or the explosion was impossible to say, but this guy looked dead. [/style]

[HOTARU SATSUMA]

Boom.

Though the detonation was far from a surprise, she was still startled by how quickly the wooden door was slammed into it's frame. Those in the tavern would be hard pressed to walk away uninjured from the surprise attack, and the captain sighed a breath of relief that her reflexes had saved her in time. Not wanting to wait around to see if whoever threw the explosive would come to search for survivors, Hotaru quickly ascended the wooden ladder and popped the trap door open, granting her access to the roof. Though the design of the ladder prevented her from easily cutting off access to her hiding place, she would still try to make the roof as safe as possible so she could assess the situation.

Kneeling on the roof facing the small hatch, she removed a sword from her large sheath and, with a powerful and ferociously fast swing, would attempt to detach the top step of the ladder from the rest, hopefully causing the rest of the structure to fall into the storeroom. As soon as her attempt was made to barricade herself on the roof, the door to the storeroom opened.

As quickly as possible, she would quietly close the hatch to the roof so not to alert whoever was entering to her location. With the hatch closed, she lifted her sword with both hands above her head and thrust the point straight down, embedding the weapon in the trap door, penetrating down to the frame of the entrance, hopefully locking the portal to anyone without more explosives or massive strength.

With her location hopefully secured, Hotaru could take the time to figure out what was going on. Screams and moans from below suggested that the injured patrons were making their way into the streets. Though the immediate threat seemed to have vanished, she knew better than to let her guard down just yet.

A cautious hand rested on the hilt of another sword, waiting for a reason to draw it.

[/blockquote]

[Igrath J. Indigo]

Each of the factions were meeting in their respective headquarters, discussing the next course of action they would take. Each of the separate factions had a different set of beliefs but after this attack they all came to the same conclusion. They had to destroy the others with force and to do that they needed to take to the streets. Each faction armed themselves with makeshift weapons created from farming equipment or old furniture and torches. As the angered people marched the streets searching for their enemies, smoke thickening the air and making it almost seem as if the town was already on fire.

The Marine Thomas had carried from his position on the floor had seemed in far worse a condition than he was. His fellow marines were already recovering from the blows to the head, but he had been closer to the blast taken more force from it. As he groaned away in the store room, blood dripping from a wound caused by the chair leg that smashed him in the head his fellow marines had already escaped the building. They were less than pleased and headed for their base of operations, just outside of the town to report all that had happened.

The angered civilians headed for the town square and from there they quickly began shouting accusations at each other for the attack. Each side grew more and more outraged at the accusations until eventually they all began to clash. Fights broke out in the square, but they quickly spread throughout the streets. Hidden in the shadows somewhere, the cigar smoking man smirked as he watched the fighting break out through a pair of binoculars.

[Manfred S. Eisenhand]

The fishman stepped through the door of the tavern after the crowd had left, bending the back to fit through. Still gripping the blade with his left hand tightly, Manfred glanced through the street, drawing in the scene where chaos intensified. Men were at rage, fury-driven and aghast at the recent attack. The incident was quite crude for the bomb could have hurt simple citizen, damned them to an early grave. But why would anyone launch such a horrid assault? And most importantly, who?

The town square stood to his right; it was rather foolish of Manfred to step out so openly as the fishman had no means to disguise himself. With scales and a lengthy tail, even an attempt at disguise will surely fail, hence he did not bother. Marines suffered equally, but Manfred simply shrugged at their blight for he cared little about their health or survival – they were simple scumbags, men bound by law, abolishers of freedom. Damn those who take away the romantic freedom of the pirate age.

Trotting towards the square, the fishman kept the blade close at his side should he be assaulted. Manfred did not stand closely to the ground as such a mass was the optimal position for another bomb. Curiously, the assailant chose to use a projectile that created pressure rather than a fierce explosion , almost as if triggering the riot was his main objective. Standing ten meters from the town square, Manfred roared-

”Calm yourselves now! This will achieve nothing. Handle this like true men.”

[/i]
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[THOMAS C. FARRELL]

As the door to the storage area swung open, Thomas found himself looking into an empty room. Good. The Marine dropped to the floor, the weight of the man being too much for Thomas to continue moving him around in his battered state. It was true, Thomas wasn't very strong, just barely able to lift things his own weight. He'd been fortunate that the Marine was his size. Closing the door behind him, he missed the trap door in the back of the room closing as well. Knocking over a few crates, he barricaded himself into the storage room. He didn't need people following him. Something reached his ears as he finished puting the finishing touches on the barricade. A moan that came from the ground a little behind him. Looking back, he saw the Marine on the ground, eyes now closed.

Oh, so the Marine wasn't dead yet? What a relief! Thomas walked over to the marine and eyed the helpless man. It seemed he'd regained a bit of himself.

SLAM!

Without a word, Thomas' boot would slam into the Marine's face, making sure that he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. Of all things, Thomas didn't need things in here to get any more complicated than they already were. Thought that Thomas was saving the Marine? Hardly. What with Marines having slaughtered many of the people in his village, why the hell would he help people like that? Call it convenience. The Marine had something that Thomas could make use of.

*interlude*

Back in the storage room, Thomas adjusted his sleeve. The Marine he'd knocked out was safely trapped in an empty ale keg that had a single full one on top of it. It was all Thomas could do to cut off the Marine's route of escape should he come to any time soon. Being crammed in a keg, it would take a great deal of strength for the Marine to break out on his own... if neigh impossible. If the Marine thought he'd get by through just using something on his person, he'd realize that he now wore nothing but his undergarments, which Thomas really had no need of. The Marine's clothing was a little loose in some areas, but it was clean and Thomas now looked the part of what he was trying to impersonate. His plan was progressing without much of a hitch at this point, but it was far too early to relax. All the chaos that had ensued after the attack, things would be disorganized and Thomas believed he could easily slip into the Marine's ranks, perhaps even pass for one of their own. He slid the flintlock pistol into the belt around himself. Now, to find a way out to mix in with the crowd...

Thomas debated going out the way he came, but he'd barricaded himself into the room to prevent others from following. If anyone had seen him come into the room with a Marine and then left the same way with the Marine's clothes on himself, it would look suspicious and might blow his cover before he'd even started. If anything, he needed a way to insert himself directly into the ranks of the Marines without them realizing what was happening. He decided that to leave through a different exit was necissary. Searching the room, he found himself looking up at a trap door. It seemed like the only exit other than the door he'd come in through. Deciding that it would do, he climbed up to it and attempted to push it open. The wood groaned, but it held in place. Was it... locked? Pushing with all his might, he tried to open it again.

No good.

Frowning, he reached up and felt the trap door, thinking that there might be some way he could figure out why it wasn't opening. The back seemed normal, two hinges allowed the trapdoor to swing open and closed, a latch enabled someone to lock it from the inside... There! Embedded at the frame of the trap door was something cold and metallic, near the latch and hard to miss without feeling it for oneself. Thomas frowned, wondering how that had gotten there. If he didn't know any better, he would have said that it was a sword, but it would have taken someone with massive strength to do something like that. He knew that he wouldn't have been able to set up much of a lock just from himself stabbing his own sword at it.

Sliding down from the top, he landed on the bottom of the ladder. Grabbing the pistol with his left hand, he raised his right arm up to shield his face. Hardly taking any time to aim, he pulled the trigger at the trap door. The bullet made a large cracking sound as it blew away one of the hinges in a single shot. Knowing that he would have alerted someone to his presence, either at the other side or back in the Tavern, he would need to work quickly now. After reloading his pistol, he would take another shot at the trapdoor, blowing the other hinge off. Wood shards scattered around himself after each shot, but he wasn't hurt. Climbing up, he would push on the top of the trap door. It would give to Thomas' average strength now and make no resistance as he pushed it to the side, opening the way. The sword by which it was locked with fell harmlessly to its side as what supported it was moved.

Thomas would note that he had been correct at how it'd been locked after all. Someone had barred the way. At the moment, Thomas could only think of one reason why someone would want to lock an escape route. Perhaps it was the person who instigated this whole mess to begin with? The swordsman scowled at the thought. After all, he still needed to repay him for the blast he'd taken.

[8/10 bullets left]