Forging a Destiny

All in all it hadn't been a bad trip. The captain of that merchant vessel had been relatively courteous considering how last minute Tyson's request had been. Stretched out in a quiet corner of the storage hold, Mikal spent his time either napping or going through some light body weight exercises to pass the time. Before long the noise above deck signaled their arrival at the first destination on their trading route; Karate Island. Tyson had long since lost track of the number of times that his teacher had mentioned this place as a local haven for martial artists this side of the grand line. The picture painted in his head was a proverbial paradise and if he could change anything, it would have been to leave his home sooner.

Rising to his feet, Tyson draped his favorite coat over his shoulders and snatched up his travelling bag before heading above deck. All around the sailors were tying off lines to properly bring the ship into dock while the captain and quartermaster shouted orders from the helm. Catching the captain's eye, Tyson nodded his thanks once again before hopping over the side of the deck down to the dock below. Even at this distance the distinct sound of fists hitting training posts reverberated in his ears alongside the grunts of exertion. Despite himself, the Lion Kempo user smirked at the thought of training here a while. It seemed like the perfect place to stretch his legs a bit before making his way into more adventurous waters.

It had been a little over a day of sailing since first leaving home. With no particular direction and a tiny boat more in line with being called a raft, it was a wonder he'd made it to an actual island without dying. He'd let himself drift all night, and by morning had spotted land. Passing up an actual port, he simply tied off the boat against the first tree he found and began searching the island.

What he was searching for wasn't too clear. He knew he needed a crew, and that they were probably going to cross into the Grand Line at some point. How or when he'd accomplish these things was a mystery, though. Parasol extended, he trudged through the jungle to hopefully find some sort of clearing. Fighting sounded all over. In pirate terms, that could be good or bad. He did want strong people, after all. He'd just have to see what came his way, he thought as he made it to the aforementioned clearing he'd been thinking of.

Shrugging his travel bag up onto a broad shoulder, Tyson made is way to the end of the dock where an impressive set of stone stairs led upwards to what could only be the main training area up above. The sight brought to mind classic images of stair case runs to train the leg muscles of new students. Momentarily shielding his eyes from an errant ray of sunshine peaking through the thick jungle foliage that covered most of the island, Mikal began making his way up the ancient staircase. Every now and then he'd pass one of the island residents on their way to the dock but aside from a quick visual inspection, they left him to his own devices. Truth be told, Tyson was happy to be ignored to a certain extent. He wasn't exactly the most social guy himself. What in the world was he suppose to say to these random strangers?

Right about the time that he pushed these thoughts aside, the Devil Fruit user reached the top of the staircase. All around residents of the island were hard at work. Heavy bag work, wooden training dummy sessions, shadowboxing and plenty of sparring between all manner of martial artists. Suffice to say it did not disappoint his expectations. That being said, it was not long before Tyson set his eyes on something he hadn't quite been expecting. Right about the time he reached the top of the stairs, another man pushed his way out of the nearby forest with a parasol in hand and some sort of sword at his side. Tyson's quirked his brow at the sight. From what he understood the appeal of this island was unarmed martial arts, not swordplay. As he mulled over that fact, Tyson gradually became less and less aware of how awkwardly he had begun to stare at the other man.

No sooner had he cleared the jungle was he met with the disapproving glare of one of the people there. He was a rather scary fellow. A real pirate type. He'd gladly have a brute like that on his crew, if only he wasn't staring at him like that. What did he want? Was he testing his strength? Maybe if he proved himself, that guy would want to join up with him.

Lowering the brim of his umbrella over his face, he waited a moment, then lifted it to reveal a scowl much more silly than it was threatening. Even so, he kept it up, directing his deadly, growling features towards the hulking muscleman as hard as he could. He also remembered he could use some food and water. He ran out of his few supplies before he went to sleep last night and hadn't had any breakfast.

Finally the man with the parasol met Tyson's gaze. To say that he was unprepared for the other man's particular style of intimidation would be a gross understatement. Visibly taken aback, Tyson blinked a few times and quickly averted his gaze, not quite sure what he was looking at anymore. Coughing into his fist to try and appear otherwise occupied, Mikal made his way further into the training ground, doing his level best to avoid further eye contact with the crazy man with the parasol. Slinking his way around the various martial artists hard at work, Tyson eventually found himself standing in the center of the training yard. Lost as he could possibly be, the Lion Kempo user glanced about for someone in charge.

It was at that moment that Tyson realized just how poorly he had thought out this little excursion to Karate Island. Was anyone allowed to stay here? Who did he talk to about room and board? He couldn't very well just toss his stuff down and start hitting things...or could he? No, that was probably a bad idea Woefully short on answers, Tyson was growing increasingly self conscious with the realization that the seemingly empty space he'd wandered into was a sparring circle. Even now he could feel occasional stares on his back. Damn it. This wasn't exactly the way he'd envisioned his arrival. "This...could have been a mistake..."

Somehow, his plan had worked. Sort of. Either way, that awkward confrontation had been avoided. He wasn't too sure what to do next. He saw the man slip away to another part of the area. Rather than follow, he just hung around the edge of the ring. That man must be pretty brave, though, considering he jumped right in the middle of this sparring area. He walked around the circumference of it twirling his parasol, thinking he might be able to find some kind of fruit tree or some kind of concession stand. He'd check back and see what became of the tough guy once he was finished.

Five minutes. He hadn't made it five minutes here before pissing somebody off. Such a bother. He certainly hadn't intended to offend the particularly large sumo practitioner who had arrived in the training circle with him. Upon his arrival, the sumo had curtly questioned whether or not he was "ready to go". Still unaware of the local social conventions or even the fact that he'd stepped into a sumo ring of all things, Tyson had simply spoken him mind in the most direct way possible.

"What the hell are you talking about?" In hindsight, perhaps the sumo wasn't the only one who was overly curt. Whether it was Tyson's tone, the increasing heat of the day or perhaps whatever training schedule the larger man was under, the sumo quickly decided to escalate matters. Lowering himself into a ready position, the large man was far more fluid in motion than Tyson had expected to say nothing of his speed. Without missing a beat, the sumo had launched himself forward in a spear tackle, his outstretched palms impacting squarely with Tyson's chest. Caught completely flatfooted, Mikal was knocked backward several feet before his heel caught on a small mound of dirt causing him to land squarely on his back.

"That's what I'm talking about, newbie. You come here to stare or train!?" the sumo shouted as he lowered himself into his ready position once more. Teeth clenched tightly in a frown, Tyson slowly rose to his feet and dusted himself off, leaving his travelling bag and coat lying on the ground for the moment. That had just been uncalled for. He was new here, of course he didn't know what the norm was and to hell with that sumo for taking a cheap shot on him in his confusion. Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, Tyson smoothly brought his right fist into a chambered position.

"Let's go." he muttered, more to himself than anything, before darting forward. Crossing the distance between the sumo and himself in an instant, Tyson intended to strike before the larger man could get any momentum going. That heavy right fist came barreling forward in a textbook cannon punch, sinking deep into the sumo's solar plexus. Though the sumo's thick layer of bulk provided a bit of padding, the twisting motion of Mikal's fist would not be deterred so easily, sinking into the soft folds until the Lion Kempo practitioner's fist disappeared entirely. The precision strike had been right on the money, quickly driving the wind from the sumo's lungs and leaving him open for the finisher. Torquing his feet into the ground, Tyson exhaled sharply and sent a surge of electricity from his right fist to force off his stunned opponent. Nearly defenseless after the initial strike, the sumo toppled like a severed oak and lay on the ground groaning in pain but otherwise unharmed. Now this made so much more sense than awkward small talk. Why couldn't socializing be more like fighting?

About halfway down the clearing, he came across a small shack selling different food and drink items. He'd bought a water bottle (and straw) and was sipping away at it as he returned up the path. He came just in time to see the large man topple the even larger man. That was an impressive task, and it was only in one punch. It seemed like this guy was his best option, after all.

"Strong guy!" he yelled, waving his umbrella at him. He made no attempt to approach him and continued yelling from the sidelines. "You're a strong guy. You should come join my pirate crew." No real finesse or subtlety to his request. That would only prolong a conversation. He wanted a direct answer in a quick fashion.

Reaching down to help the sumo into a sitting position, Tyson was pleased to learn the big man wasn't such a bad guy after all. In fact, he was quickly able to point out where the main office was where Mikal could get all his necessary information for room and board. Once again his problems had been solved through martial arts. Seriously though, it always seemed to speed things up. Speaking of speeding things up, it appeared as if Tyson was already being flagged down by another man in the training grounds. Unfortunately it was the same weird umbrella guy from before and he was shouting something about a pirate crew. Looking at the man as if he had two heads, Tyson shook his own head and bid farewell to his new sumo friend.

Retrieving his coat and bag, he navigated his way to the edge of the training area where the umbrella man stood. Getting closer, Tyson was finally able to get a better chance to size him up properly. He wasn't an overly large man but he seemed to carry himself pretty well. Bag in one hand and his coat draped over the other, Mikal stopped his approach about five meters from the umbrella man. "You say something about a pirate crew? I think you might have the wrong guy, buddy. I literally just walked in the door myself."

His yelling had gotten him attention, but the conversation didn't end there. It was a hassle. "I don't need your life story," he said. "There'll be plenty of time for that later when you join my crew. You're the strongest guy here, so I need you." He certainly seemed to be the strongest, at least. He figured it was kind of hard to drop a sumo in one punch. Then again, he hadn't seen what these other guys could do yet. He started to think it over some more. Maybe a fight between that guy and everyone else would help figure things out.

Holding up his hands to try and slow down the other man's breakneck verbal pace, Tyson was struggling to keep up with the decisions that the umbrella man had apparently already reached. "Now just hold on a second. Why would I want to be a pirate? I like this place...what little I've seen of it at least," he said, glancing around the training ground again. The umbrella guy had called him the strongest one here. At first it seemed like a pretty blatant attempt at ham handed flattery to convince him to join this pirate crew. However, at second glance most of the trainees here didn't appear to be particularly high level. They were all certainly passionate but unfortunately that didn't always translate to raw skill. Well damn. Maybe this place wouldn't be able to hold his attention for as long as he would have liked without stronger fighters. "Actually...scratch that, I'm listening."

It seemed his brilliant negotiation skills had netted him his first mate. "Maybe you're right," he said after all. "I might find someone stronger if I just keep looking. It's not like I have any real proof you're the strongest here just yet." As easy as it was to play the simpleton, he was actually rather smart. While the one display of strength was impressive enough, he wanted to see exactly what this guy could do. If he beat up, like, ten guys, then he'd be sure he had the strongest possible fighter he could get on his crew. If he got beat, then he'd just take whoever that guy was. He was winning either way. Personally, he preferred this guy, though. He had a Fruit power. Probably, at least. Some people can just do stuff with lightning.

Really? He really thought it would be that easy to stroke his ego? At no point in his life had Tyson ever had delusions of a genius level intellect but he was confident enough to say he was a bit sharper than most and that was, quite possibly, the laziest attempt at manipulation he'd ever seen. Giving the umbrella man a flat stare with a single bead of sweat dropping down the side of his forehead, Tyson did his level best to make his intentions clear. "You're a bit of a ass, you know that? You really think I'm going to start running around here picking fights just to prove something?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe? You came here to fight, and I want to see what you can do. Your lightning stuff is cool." This guy was getting mad. Maybe he should just get him to get on with the fighting, or maybe just pick someone else. There were plenty of muscular men around to satisfy his needs. He sat on the ground and continued to drink his water. "I don't know. I'm just going to be the best pirate. Maybe even, like, the King. Maybe you want to be a part of that or maybe you don't."

This man was absolutely infuriating. It was one thing to try and trick him in such a lazy manner but it was quite another to toss around bold statements like becoming King of the pirates in such a halfhearted way. His right eyebrow twitching a bit, Tyson crouched down on his haunches to maintain a relative eye level with the umbrella man. "I give ya credit, buddy. It takes a lot of ambition to shoot that high but if there's one thing I can't stand it's arrogance. How about you get off your lazy ass and show me why I should throw my lot in with you?"

Without waiting for what would likely be a witty retort, Mikal rose to his feet and scooped up a small stone. Turning back towards the training ground, he gave the stone a firm toss into the back of a nearby karate practitioner's head as the man was trying to walk a younger trainee through a one step sparring sequence. Grabbing his head in pain, the surprised karateka and his friend turned towards Tyson and the umbrella man, angry and demanding an explanation. Keeping a straight face, Tyson simple pointed at the sitting man with the umbrella. "It was him. He says you got your belts at a McDojo."

"But I don't like to fight," he argued before being called out on the other guy's behalf. Looked like it was fight time, after all. The large McDojo master came charging forward to deliver a large fist of pain directly at the seated man's head. It was for naught, however, as a blast of air into the parasol bounced him into the air and over the man unharmed. The man continued to swing fists and feet at him, but umbrellas and wind powers were too good on maneuverability. "Stop trying to hit me. I don't want to fight."

The guy just wouldn't listen, though. It looked like he had to fight. Dropping his umbrella, he ducked under a straight right fist and placed his own against the man's chest. "Jet Punch!" A jet of air exploded from his closed fist, blasting the karate man's solar plexus with the force of a cannonball. He was shot back into a tree, humorously dropping a coconut onto his head after a hard impact and knocking him out cold. Stretching out his wrist, the pirate grabbed his parasol once again and shaded himself from the sun.

His water had spilled on the ground when he initially had to jump. "You owe me water," he said to the lightning bruiser. He twirled the parasol absentmindedly, expecting to be reimbursed with a new drink immediately.

Evidently the man with the umbrella wasn't all talk after all. Evading the karateka's attacks with a superhuman level of maneuverability, the smaller man was making this look like child's play. Wind power eh? Suppose I've got no right to be surprised, Tyson thought to himself as the short fight was quickly ended. In any case it had certainly helped to settle his inhibitions. He could stay here and slowly laze away the day in sparring sessions, or throw caution to the wind and sail around the world with a crazy jet man fighting god knows what. Memories of his parent's smothering care rushed into his mind and in a moment he'd decided. Reaching into his travel bag, the lightning man retrieved an unopened bottle of water and tossed it to the other man.

"Alright, I'm in. My name's Tyson. Now please tell me you've got a way off this island because the guys I sailed in here with just took off."

His waiting paid off, as he grabbed the bottle as it sailed through the air towards him. Opening it, he retrieved the straw, blew on it to remove any invisible particles that may or may not have been hiding on the end, and began drinking once again. "I have a ship back that way," he mentioned, motioning towards to forest with his thumb. "We need supplies, though. I ran out last night." He hadn't brought enough supplies as it was, though, which he neglected to mention. He pointed to the stand he'd gone to before. "They have stuff. We can't take a lot since the ship is small. Do you know where the next island is?"

"Unfortunately no. I've never been good with directions. Tell ya what, I'll grab us some food. See if you can find us a map or something," he said in response before turning on his heel and heading for the largest building nearby. According to the sumo, that was the main dormitory for this part of the island which meant there would be a kitchen in there somewhere. Exhaling sharply, Tyson made his way into the building. Chances were he'd have to talk to people. That was never a good sign of things to come, especially considering the fact that he was for all intents and purposes stealing from this establishment.

Perhaps it was for that very reason that Mikal declined to comment on what exactly happened within that kitchen for several years after the fact. Occasionally, a partial witness would turn up offering bits and pieces of the scene. The only thing that everyone has managed to agree on is that the scene was rife with miscommunication as Tyson uselessly attempted to make his intentions clear to the chef who spoke next to no English. Voices were raised, pots and pans were later found scattered across several mikes, the entire stock of chickens were released onto the island and roughly half of the building was burned to the ground.

However, when all was said and done, Tyson returned to the opening in the jungle foliage carrying a crate under each arm. One contained bottles of water while the other had an assortment of dried fruits and vegetables. Looking rather frustrated and strangely covered in a thin layer of flour, the lightning man strove to avoid any and all eye contact as fire alarms and sirens began to sound behind him. "I don't wanna talk about it, just tell me your name and let's get out of here," he said to his new crew mate without breaking his stride.

Thought he didn't want to have to talk to anyone without need, he resigned himself to asking for directions. As soon as the bulky man left, though, several more appeared. Apparently, they were friends of the man laying against the tree. They seemed to want revenge, but he had no time for that.

Amid the fighting (or, dodging mostly), he overheard someone talk about a place called Water 7, which seemed to offer real ships. Someone mentioned it was to the south, so that seemed like the direction to head. The new first mate reappeared with the goods not long after. His refusal to stand around talking was perfectly fine, considering the growing crowd of fighters chasing them down. "Boat's this way. Let's hurry." He jetted from his heels to increase his running speed towards the dingy sitting tied to the tree not far off. Hopping in, he motioned for the other man to drop the crates in. "Cut the line. We won't need it after this."

As the jet man bolted past him, Tyson had intended to press the issue of his name. However, the urgency in the umbrella man's voice was enough to table that topic for another time. Far more important was the growing crowd of martial artists pursuing them. Blinking in surprise, Tyson cursed under his breath before taking off in a run after the man in glasses. Utilizing his devil fruit to augment his speed, Tyson was able to keep pace with the jet man until they arrived at his pathetic excuse for a boat.

"This is your boat!? It's a freaking dingy!" he exclaimed, setting the crates down within the craft. The sounds of the mob shouting were growing much closer with each passing second so Mikal wasted no time to follow the jet man's directions and simply tore through the rope with practiced, vice-like grip. Hands braced against the boat, Tyson pushed off hard from the dock to get them going out to see, awkwardly throwing himself into the boat to avoid plummeting into the ocean. "Now would be a very good time for those wind powers of yours, mystery man!" he added, once again hitting on the umbrella man's refusal to disclose his name.

The rope was broken and they were pushed off. Taking the prompting, he fire two jets of air from his hands toward the island, blowing them out at high speed away from the angry men swinging their fists. Once they were safely out in the middle of the ocean, he sat back and balanced his umbrella over himself. "I think we're on course now," he said, already prepared for a nap. "I don't know when we're going to make it to Water 7, but we'll just keep drifting until we find it." At the moment, his first priority was sleep. All that running made him tired. Not really, but he felt that way. Sleeping in a tiny boat is only so restful.

With the sun blaring overhead, Tyson shrugged out of his beloved coat, a bit too warm for comfort even with the refreshing ocean breeze washing over the back of his neck. It was at that point in time that the jet man revealed their location as Water 7, definitely a good place to go for an upgrade to their current "ship". However, that good news aside, the other man had still not properly answered Tyson's questions. Growling, the lightning man reached over the side of the small ship and splashed a handful of sea water at the umbrella man. Quickly regretting the decision based on the stinging sensation running through his hand, the lightning man decided to limit himself to physical violence in the future.

"Hold it. You still haven't told me your damn name so don't go passing out on me just yet. Besides, with those powers of yours you could have us at Water 7 in no time," he exclaimed, grumbling under his breath at the apparent laziness of his new travelling companion.

Water splashed his coat and shirt, irritating him slightly less than it would take to open his eyes. "You're getting all hung up on the future. You just need to relax. We'll get there when we get there." He was really just too lazy to blast them over. He liked the rocking motion of their pathetic boat. "And I'm Fisher D. Conrad. Or Captain. I like that one." Being the leader of a pirate crew was already turning out to be fun.

In return for the roundabout sass, Tyson responded with an annoying kick to Conrad's shin. After all that frustration there was no way in hell that Tyson was about to let him just roll over and sleep like nothing. "Eyes open, Conrad. You can nap all you want when we've got a proper ship but for now I'm going to make sure you stay awake and propelling us toward Water 7 as quickly as possible," he said, taking a moment to check their general route thus far. Thankfully, he'd thought to pack a simple compass in his travelling bag. Upon review, they were indeed still headed due South. "Seriously man, neither of us can swim. The less time we spend on a pint sized dingy that could capsize at any minute, the better. God forbid we run into a Sea King in this thing."