We Need a Ship

The sea train was a nice change to their tiny raft. They were rather understanding about their bringing crates on board. The ride into town was easy enough outside of an encounter with a frog. As they stepped off into the station, he realized what the first mate was saying about a tourist trap. It seemed like a dock would be the best place to find ships, though he didn't have a lot of money to pay for them. Maybe they could pool what money they had and sell their stock of dried produce for the rest. People wanted dried crap, right?

Thank their lucky stars they'd managed to get a ride on a Sea Train.  Compared to bouncing around on that tiny death trap of a boat, the padded seats of the train were a little slice of heavy.  However, that little slice of heaven quickly evaporated the moment they stepped off into Water 7.  Just as he had remembered it, the entire place was a hole for people to throw money into.  Beyond just that it was the sheer number of people that bothered Tyson the most.  Never the most comfortable man in a crowd, Mikal hated having to shoulder his way through people just to walk a few yards.  Hopefully they'd be able to make a relatively quick exit.  

Catching his captain's glance towards the crate of dried fruit and vegetables, Tyson was able to catch onto his train of thought relatively quickly.  "Even if we sell all of this and spend every sent we've got there's no way we're going to be able to afford a ship.  Besides, I thought you wanted to make dramatic entrance into the world of piracy," he said, adjusting the crate's position under his arm.  "If you ask me, I think we should take a little stroll down the docks and scope out something we like.  We can probably trade this stuff in for a decent meal around there and plan out exactly how we're going to steal a ride without getting killed.  Hell, if we're lucky we might even find another crew member or two crazy enough to help with this insanity." Though subtle, a very small smirk had begun to appear on Tyson's lips.  This pirate life was turning out to be quite a bit of fun after all.

It seemed like neither of them had all that much money. "I guess. Where's that food you were talking about? I'm hungry." More crew was a good idea. Right now, though, it just looked like a bunch of normal people going about their lives buying stupid shit. No cares or concerns. No lust for freedom or adventure like a pirate. What were those horse things, though?

"What the hell is that?" he said, pointing his umbrella at the seahorse-drawn gondola traveling the canal system of the town. They were ugly as hell, but they looked like they could be of use. Should they steal one?

"I'm not quite sure, haven't been here in a long time. But I'm sure there's gotta be something around Dock 1. That's supposed to be the best place for ships around here and hard working people gotta eat right?" Followed the captain's gaze to the unique gondola, Tyson cocked his head to the side trying to call upon his memories of his childhood visit here. "If I'm remembering correctly, they're called bulls. Basically rental cars for getting around this place. Should be able to get a pair of them for about 2000 beli if you don't plan on walking to Dock 1," he said with a shrug.

2000 wasn't too bad. "Onward to...wherever you get those things," he declared, raising his umbrella in triumph. Walking all over this place with all its crazy structures and waterways seemed like a pain, so using these beasts to get around would make things much easier. He began walking in no particular direction, hoping they'd find a clue around here somewhere. He stopped briefly to buy a bag of fried dumplings off a street vendor, enjoying a hot meal after a night and afternoon of cold, dried crap. Maybe they'd find a nice ship soon and they could get out to sea quickly. A hotel would just further drain their funds.

Nodding once, Tyson got to work on finding a proper rental facility for some of those bulls. Right about the time that Fisher managed to get his hands on some snacks, Tyson was bartering with the rental agent for a reduced fee in exchange for the fruit crate he'd been lugging around all this time. To his great joy, the older gentleman was willing to take the deal and turned over use of the bulls to the pirates for approximately half price. Considering they hadn't bought the fruit to begin with it wasn't a bad deal. Waving Conrad over, Tyson hopped into what he assumed was a passenger position and kicked his feet up before produced a hidden bundle of bananas from his coat. "You know, that stuff's going to wind up killing you one day right?" he asked, chomping down on a banana as he waited for his new captain to set them on their path to one of Water 7's famous docks. Dock One sounded rather tempting considering it's reputation but then again, it would also surely be the most heavily guarded.

He hopped into the front of the craft, still plopping the steaming pockets into his mouth from a toothpick. "As pirates, I don't think junk food is really the leading cause of death." Unsure of how to get the things to move, he just said the name of Dock One. The creatures took off at a faster pace than expected, knocking him back and sending his food into the water below. "Damn gondola fish," he swore at them.

"So are we stealing a ship, or what?" he asked behind him, not really sure what the plan was right now. Maybe they could get something big and tough if they looked hard enough. It would definitely increase their bounties (or, rather, give them bounties). "What about a Marine ship?" he suggested, suddenly having an idea.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tyson immediately tensed to avoid being knocked off the suddenly speeding gondola. "Sounds like a decent enough plan to me. If we can get our hands on one of those we should be able to outfight or at least outrun most of what would come after us," he said, gripping the edge of his seat to absorb a sharp turn as the gondola darted down a secondary canal. "The hard part will be getting past the guys working at Dock One. They're all supposed to be pretty tough after dealing with pirates all this time. Any ideas, cap'n?"

He thought for a minute, having taken to gripping the seat as tightly as he could to avoid flying out of the boat. "From what I always heard, not too many people actually like the Marines. Maybe if we make it look like they're the ones coming after us, the dock workers will try to help us. At least defuse the situation long enough to let us get away on the ship." As they came out on the other side of a jump, they'd reached their destination.

The few rumors he'd just now heard about were true. Dock One was a center of activity for ships of all kinds. The foremen certainly looked tough as hell. It would probably be best not to mess with them. Reaching the "dock" half of the area, the creature gave a whinnying sound. Stepping off the boat, he twirled his parasol and looked around. What they did from here would need to be calculated out more thoroughly than their plan on Karate Island.

Running his fingers through his hair to try and smooth out some of the wild cowlicks that bull ride had given him. However, his slightly unsettled stomach aside, the decision to rent the bulls was a good one. The trip to Dock One would have been truly obnoxious by foot at this time of the day. Hopping off the gondola, Tyson's heels clicks against the pavement as he followed his captain through the massive gates leading to the dock proper. All around them there was a general haze of activity. Shipwrights as far as the eye could see were hard at work grinding down massive pieces of wood, fastening planks into place and tying off huge lengths of rope. It was certainly a far cry from the easy going island he had called home all these years.

"Sounds like a solid plan to me. Can't say I'm much of an actor but just tell me what you need me to do and I'll get it done," he said, sending a sidelong glance towards Fisher. He'd need to be careful about what he said from here on out. If the rumors were true, all these dock workers were more than used to pirates starting trouble. The last thing they needed was a casual slip of the tongue giving them away too soon.

He thought for a minute as to what they should do, scratching his head as per her tick. "I think it would be best if we didn't charge in too quickly. We can afford to stay in town a little while." To get the foremen to fight on their side against the Marines, they'd have to be in pretty well with that group. It'd essentially mean opposing the World Government for them, which would be a stretch to imagine for just a couple strangers. That would give them time to work on finding other suitable crew members like they'd discussed before, too. "For right now, let's just take our time. Maybe see if we can find anyone else who looks like they'd be able to make it with us over the Grand Line." He twirled his parasol in hand, scanning the crowd for any faces that seemed scary and surly enough to be a pirate.

Nodding in agreement with Fisher, Tyson rolled a kink out of his shoulder before lightly patting the smaller man on the back. "I gotcha. Welp, I'm off to try and make friends with the dockworkers then. If anything happens just give me a holler," he said, making his way towards where a group of men were unloading a fresh load of supplies near a marine ship. Narrowing his gaze a bit, Tyson considered the best way to go about this. One of the perks of being an introvert was that it had given him plenty of experience in studying the social interactions of other people. While it may have been a struggle to get along with some people, it was quite another to simply tell people what they wanted to hear. In this particular case, it was a very simple matter of getting inside the mind of an unappreciated working class guy.

As the lightning man approached, one of the larger dock workers took a short break from the unloading to sit down on a crate and wipe his sweating brow. He was a middle aged man clad in simply made clothing and covered in thick callouses. The important part though, was the frustrated scowl he was sending towards the marine ship. Fighting back a smirk, Tyson paused along side him and gave the man a subtle nod in greeting.

"Marine ship eh? You'd think those guys would be out here lending a hand with all this," he said, his tone coming across as a casual musing. In response, the dock worker gave a scornful snort and aggressively jabbed his thumb toward the ship while making eye contact with Mikal.

"Bunch of lazy assholes if you ask me. Arrogant rats sit around all day watching us work on THEIR ship, carry THEIR supplies and they ain't afraid to try running rough shot over anybody who gives em any sass," the older man said, nearly spitting out the last few words.

Continuing to play his part, Tyson winced and shook his head a bit in disgust. "That's a damn shame, pal. My old man did his apprenticeship over in Dock 5 years ago. You guys deserve better than that. Say, how about I lend you guys a hand for a bit?" he exclaimed, offering his hand to the older man in an apparent show of friendship.

It was probably the story about having family in the same line of work that got him hooked. Thankfully, the callouses he'd built up from training were enough to give his hands the appearance of a man who had spent a life in manual labor. The little spark of interest in the older man's eyes was a dead give away even before he accepted Tyson's hand and was pulled to his feet. "That's mighty kind of ya, kid. Name's Jones. Jon Bon Jones."

"Tyson Mikal. Happy to help," Shaking Jones' hand and returning the smile, Tyson began following him towards the stake of crates where the rest of Jones' crew was still at work.

Watching his first mate walk into the fray, he convulsed a bit from the uncomfortable feeling of being touched on the shoulder. He wasn't too sure what to do right now. He looked from side to side, eventually starting down the dock towards some shops. He glanced in through the windows to inspect their wares, hoping to find a few supplies he figured he'd need later down the line. Good fortune seemed to be with him today, since one of the shops he came across seemed to sell just what he needed.

Coming in through the door and heralded by a tiny bell, he walked up and down a few sad looking isles of powders before finding what he needed - gunpowder and purple dye crumbles. He collected a few armfuls of each, as well as some metal ball bearings, a pack of fuses from another shelf, and a couple more odds and ends from around the store. "I need this stuff," he said to the lazy cashier reading a newspaper. It took him a moment to respond, but he eventually put down the print with a huff and rang up the items.

The end result would be handheld bombs and impact smokescreens. The purple coloring was a personal choice, only for the fun of having a different color from white smoke. Exiting the store with a ding, he had to components of his explosives stored in two bags. With nowhere to stay for the moment, he was unsure of where to work on these. Finally, he decided on a tavern a ways down the lane.

It was a well lit place that smelled of oil and wood, evidently a hangout for shipwrights and the dock workers. He took a seat in the very back corner, propping his umbrella against the wall and producing a small pair of pliers and some tape from his coat. He went through the arduous task of measuring out powder amounts by hand and taping up the crude covers for each. He was thankful the others ignored him, any small bump against his work station meaning a good chance and knocking everything over and dumping the explosives on himself.

It was about an hour before he'd finished, ending up with twelve bombs and twenty smoke pellets. He'd used the entirety of the things he bought, so he had nothing left over. He placed his creations in different pockets - smoke on the left, explosive on the right - and returned the pliers and tape to an interior section. Without a notice, he left the place behind and continued to search the town for things to do.

Spending the better part of an hour hauling crates with the rest of the dock crew, Tyson was gradually beginning to warm up to these guys. Granted, it could have been entirely due to the slight pump he was getting from this much physical exertion but regardless of the cause, it was getting easier to fall into the role of "just one of the guys". He'd gotten the chance to meet a few more of the men while working and swapped carious stories and jokes (mostly fictional on his part). As far as they knew, he was a recent arrival looking for work at the docks. Add in a promise to buy the crew a round of cheap drinks after their shift was over and Tyson was well on his way to having a posse.

With the whistle blown to signal the end of their shift, the crew quickly accosted him over the earlier offer of drinks and began leading him to the nearest bar populated by several other crews. Swallowing hard, Tyson raised his hand and grabbed the bartender's attention. "Yo bartender, a round of beer for every hard worker in here!" he said, forcing a smile onto his features. All around the packed place a few subtle cheers went up and Tyson immediately went to work helping the waitress pass out drinks. He'd have to make it a point to thank his father the next time he saw him. The old man's career in local politics had certainly taught young Tyson how to make nice with strangers.

Eventually finding himself at a crowded table with a combination of men from the various crews around the dock, Tyson went right back to work trying to cozy up to the group, a challenge made infinitely easier with the introduction of alcohol. He made sure to let them ramble through conversations a bit but every now and then he would gently pull the conversation back to the subject of Marines and their current "unacceptable" behavior around Dock One. It was his new friends that tipped Tyson off to the recent completion of a new ship for said Marines, the nicest one currently in the dock in fact. Pressing them a bit, Mikal inquired how much time the Marines spent helping with it. When they of course said none, he decided it would be a good time to bring up the Marines "vicious" bullying sessions against him and the rest of the recent arrivals looking for work.

It had been quite a while since Slade had been able to indulge in one of his most enjoyable pastimes; drinking till he couldn't see straight. Luckily, Water 7 had a bar cheap enough to allow him access to the materials required to do so. It's not like he had anywhere to go at the moment. Well, to be more accurate, it's not like he could go anywhere, seeing as the small fishing vessel he'd been sailing on for the majority of his time at sea had finally given out on it's approach to the Water 7 docks, in which he had to hang atop the mast as the fully submerged craft drifted into the port. The ships condition was no doubt the fault of Corban's own lack of distribution of his own finances to keep the ship in working order, which could further be traced back to his rather clingy nature of his wealth.

So, since he had no means of transportation at the moment, he had decided to spend a day or two relaxing at the local bar, which allowed him the treat of enjoying not one, but two of his hobbies! The second one being mingling with any of the attractive waitresses that were sent to his table, which had no doubt been quite a few since the one-eyed man was already on his 13th alcoholic beverage, all of which had been subject to the Marksman's lecherous pokes and gropes if they had gotten too close. Sadly, one of the waitresses was in no mood for it and, upon slapping the drunkard across the face, had since refused to serve the table and thus got one of the others to replace her. Luckily, the new one was just as attractive, though whether or not this was because of the rum robbing him of any partial sense he had or not was left to be questioned.

All in all, Slade had rather enjoyed the time he'd been spending here, but the experience was only further increased when an man, unknown to him by name or face, had walked into the building with the day's workers and offered a round of beer for those hard workers inside, to which Corban couldn't help but raise his then near-empty glass to in celebration. Despite not being one of the hard working men who'd likely earned it, he had managed to grab hold of a free drink by gesturing the maid over, to which he leaned back in his chair, miraculously balancing it on the back two legs despite his semi-intoxicated state with his own feet perched upon the tabletop, and eagerly chugged it with a thirst akin to that experienced by a dehydrated sailor surrounded by nothing but sea water.

Swallowing the intoxicating beverage until the glass was but half full, a vulgar burp was allowed to freely escaped his lips as he turned his head slightly to glanced toward the blond man and his supposed companion before he eyed his half-empty drink, his look going back and forth between the two for only a few moments before a decision was made within the man's tipsy mind to try and abuse the situation so as to obtain more free drinks. Pulling his feet from the tabletop, Slade arose from his table and made his way toward the blond and his associates, adding it a bit more swaying and stumbling to his approach to insinuate that he was more drunk than he actually was, before sliding himself between one of the sailors and Tyson himself, in which he draped his arms over both their shoulders.

"Wazzup, guys? I don't mean tae interrupt, tha conversation seems really interestin', but I jus' wanted to tell tis fine gentleman, on behalf of everyone 'ere, just how grateful I am for the free drink 'e provided!" He said in slightly slurred speech, leaning on Tyson a bit to further show his gratitude before taking another swig from his cup, the gurgled words, "Truly a good man!" being slightly audible as he did so. Curiously enough, Slade had managed to pick up an earful of what the conversation was about during his meandering over, and decided to throw in his hat to the discussion to see what the situation around the Docks' were. After all, if he was going to get off this island in his current situation, he was going to need to find a way to either sneak aboard one of the vessels or commandeer one by himself. He might as well see what the Marine situation was like beforehand.

"Tha' Marines are alwhay's assholes!", the words came out slightly louder than what many might've considered appropriate at the moment, but he had decided to go with the flow and work with the information he was able to overhear. Then again, it's not like he was lying... They were, typically, not the kindest of people toward those they suspected of piracy. Letting out a burp, he continued. "All they do is sit around while these fine gentlemen, and other like em' do allllll tha backbreakin' work. It' ain't right, ah tell ya. It ain't right! Someone shud teach 'em a lesson in humility, and common courtesy!"

Amid the clatter of the bar, Tyson hadn't even heard the drunken man's approach.  That was sloppy; very sloppy.  He'd have to remember to sit with his back to the building entrance from now on whenever he had to subjugate himself to a social outing like this or at the very least have a reliable friend watching his back.  Pity he was in such short supply of those at the moment.  God only knew where Fisher had wandered off to now that Tyson was finally building some real momentum towards starting a riot.  

Speaking of said riot, the drunken man currently leaning on him might just be useful in getting it off the ground.  Drunken men were easier to use in general but this guy had that extra spark of charisma that they'd need.  Considering his performance so far, Tyson had reasonable faith that Fisher would be able to capitalize on the situation as it unfolded.  Above all there was the importance of striking while the iron was hot.  Slamming his fist down on the table, Mikal made a go of stoking the flames even higher.  

"How this guy has the right idea!  Somebody should teach them a lesson!"  Tyson declared, attempting to make eye contact with as many of the men in turn as he could.  As if on que, his "friend" Jones jumped to his feet and raised his arms over head.  "We oughta kick their asses!" the older man shouted into the bar, inciting another round of cheers.  

Rising along with Jones, Tyson moved to pull the recently arrived drunk to a full standing position with him.  "Old man Jones is right everybody!  Those Marine bastards have been kicking us around for too long!  I say we march over to the fancy new ship WE MADE THEM and kick their cocky asses off it!" Tyson waited just a moment before adding in the all important detail, "Then let's come back here and drink ourselves blind!" he roared.  That was the kind of thing that frat boys like this wanted to hear wasn't it?  It certainly sounded good in his head.  

Evidently, the drunken patrons agreed with him.  In intoxicated, partial unison, the cheering mass of sweaty drinkers leaped to their feet and rushed towards the door with various levels of coordination.  "Go get em boys!  Show em they can't push us around anymore!" Tyson said, beginning to feel the social exhaustion setting in.  Honestly, all this talking was seriously beginning to drain him.  Oh well, once he and Fisher had this ship he'd hopefully have all the time he'd need to himself in some corner of the deck.

OOC: This has been approved as a Level 1 Task

Hiccuping slightly as he was pulled to a full standing position by the giant of a man, at least compared to himself, Slade couldn't help but take another swig of his remaining drink. In doing so, a sly smirk crossed his lips as they were hidden by the rim of the glass, the liquid obscuring his muffled snicker as merely the gurgle of gulping the last remnants of anything alcoholic that had resided within. Corban had wanted to see how the situation was, and it was apparently bad enough to start a goddamn riot with him simply suggesting something off the top of his head. Even he didn't know it was that kind of boiling point despite having been here for the past day or two. Then again, he didn't hold any love for the Marines anyway, so he couldn't care less. However, this was a moment to capitalize on.

If mass chaos and havoc couldn't give him an opportunity to commandeer a ship of his own and sail off into the horizon, then he was pretty certain nothing would. Then again, the idea of simple townsfolk starting a riot hardly seemed efficient in distracting the Marines and their rifles long enough complete all the preparations that come with hijacking a decently sized ship, which was his actual plan. Not to mention, despite the towns people likely having an advantage in numbers, it's not like they were bulletproof. A squad of well-trained riflemen could take down an untrained horde rather quickly, and that was something Slade knew all too well with his kind of experience. He figured it best if he went along with the whole ordeal until he saw an opportunity to slip out of the situation and disappear into the sunset.

Lowering his cup onto the table with a loud enough thud to catch the attention of those surrounding the table, and to a lesser extent the rest of the bar over their mindless roars of approval for the expedition of kicking the asses of those who had been oppressing them, Slade finally suddenly shouted to fully draw the attention to himself, though this time in a much clearer voice. "Ya wanna commit suicide ya dumb bastards!?" It may give away the fact that he wasn't as drunk as he had appeared, but with the surrounding idiots as intoxicated as they were, the only one likely to notice would be the blond currently holding him upright. Luckily, the aspect of getting themselves killed was enough to cause a modicum of hesitation in the rowdy lot and cause them to turn their attention toward the seemingly drunk man and the one holding him.

Leading a group of men was hard, but leading a group of men who were so drunk off their ass that they could barely run straight was even harder. However, it was necessary. "Run toward the docks with yer pipes and crowbars in hand and the lot o' ya'll only get yer bodies a few extra holes, courtesy of the rifles they're likely to have, or did ye'all forget that they're Marines!" Slade finally felt it time to break his little charade and stand on his own, pulling his arm from the blond currently supporting him and spun on his heels to look at the crowd behind him. Placing his arms behind his back as a menacing smirk crossed his lips, he continued. Ya wanna get rid of the Navy and it's oppressive miscreants that berate you? That's your right as citizens, as free men! However, if you all die here then who will protect those who come after you from the same treatment you've suffered up until now?! You want to revolt? By all means, but do be smart when attempting it, least you all get massacred."

"What do you suggest we do then?" One of the less intoxicated men in the front of the crowd asked, his question causing looks of curiosity and question on the looks of the others which were directed toward Slade. Again, a twisted smile tore across his face before he turned and climbed atop the table, then spun around again to face them all. I'll try to keep this simple for the lot of you who are too shitfaced to even speak correctly, but we need organization. Step one, disperse the number of guards and thin their ranks! The less men guarding the ship, the better! How do we do this, you ask? Fire! Set the ships in the nearby docks ablaze, and marines will scatter to douse them! Step two, once they've been spread afar, we charge the deprived center line and take the targeted ship for ourselves! Then we can weed out the remaining marines at our leisure!" He paused a moment, then finished with a few last words. "Once that is done, DRINKS ALL AROUND COURTESY OF YOURS TRULY!"

Another shout and cry of agreement shook the air as they rallied, many of them grabbing left over alcohol and breaking the chairs for their wooden legs, and scrounging up old rags and curtains to wrap around the end and set ablaze to make torches. Multiple groups split off once they exited the building, rushing towards different locations to set light the fires of revolt. It's not like his idea would prevent every single casualty, some of them would die, it couldn't be avoided, but controlled chaos was a lot more manageable than absolute havoc.

Slade, however, was not among those who fled the bar in revolution, as he simply dropped off the table and picked up one of the still half-full glasses and took another swig, the crooked smile still on his lips as he pondered what would occur and how he would fulfill his own goal. All he had to do was wait for the chaos to start, then he'd make his way toward whichever ship had the least amount of protection. The one the navy was guarding had caught his attention though, so maybe he'd join the fray after the gunfire started. Until then, he'd watch the streets burn.

The situation was changing far more rapidly than Tyson ever could have predicted. Not only was the drunken slob not nearly as intoxicated as he had first appeared, he was downright dangerous. In just a moment, he had transformed the drunken gang Tyson had formed as a smoke screen into a full blown riot. The eye patched man made excellent points about the strategic advantages held by the Marines. He was absolutely right that the dock workers would likely have been cut down simply rushing the boat but then again, Tyson had never really been all that concerned regarding their final fate so long as he and Fisher managed to get the ship. Momentarily letting his newly revealed lack of empathy soak in a moment, Tyson eventually decided to center his focus on the charismatic drunk that had warped his plans.

He waited until the mass had cleared out of the bar before sending a sidelong glance towards the dark haired man. "Let's not beat around the bush. Neither one of us plan on sticking around for this fake worker's revolt. My buddy and I are getting the hell out of here in that new ship while the Marines are putting down the riot and you seem like a guy who can handle himself. What say we help each other out until Water 7 is a dot on the horizon?" he said, folding his arms over his chest as the chaos outside continued to grow exponentially. Roaming groups of dockworkers sprinter across Dock One hurling their makeshift torches onto docked Marine vessels or swarmed the unaware Marines em mass. Evidently, the mob mentality was as strong as he'd hoped it would be as more and more disgruntled and intoxicated men joined the fray from other bars. They'd need to move quickly if they were to reach their target before this miniature revolution was squashed. The trick would be reaching that new ship at about the same time that the rioters did. If they could pull that off it would be a simple matter to get around the distracted guard crew.

Slade's attention was pulled from his drink and the rather abysmal plot that was being worked out in his mind and was forced to focus on the blond who had still been standing beside him, oddly enough not disappearing with the angry mob. He'd thought the young man would have been leading the pack, seeing as how he was the one who had originally instigated the little riot, but the small amount of curiosity that had been left over had been washed away, and all became clear upon listening to the man's proposal. Giving a momentary glance at the man, Slade downed the rest of the drink and wiped the excess from his mouth with his sleeve, casually tossing the empty cup over his shoulder before retrieving another from the left over mass that now filled the empty bar's tables.

"Kid's these days are so heartless, it's rather indecorous, even for aspiring pirates. Nevertheless, quite the contrary, youngster. Had ye not just made me an offer that would result in the mutual benefit of acquiring a ship and making my plan easier, I'd likely be perched atop one o' the nearby rooftop's tae enjoy the flames a bit. Nothin' wrong with basking the glow of a revolt every now and then, 'specially one you've started." He paused, taking note of the mans mention of a partner before downing the rest of the newly acquired glass in a single gulp before tossing it to the side with a loud clatter as it knocked over several other cups, causing alchohol to drench the nearby table and floor. "Sure thing, kid. I've had my eyes set on that boat ever since I heard it mentioned in yer little conversation. Might as well follow the path of least resistance and tackle it with a group of semi-confident acquaintances who can handle themselves."

Looking around the bar, he finally eyed what he was searching for and walked to the counter to retrieve a small box of left over matches that were to be used by guests to light their cigarettes. Retrieving one of them and striking it against the side of the box, a small flame flickered to life at the end of the small stick before he turned around and began making his way towards the door. The match was tossed over his shoulder as he did so, which landed on the alcohol-soaked puddle near the messy table, suddenly causing it to erupt into a massive flame. Calmly opening the bar door and exiting, he'd hold it open for a few moments to allow his new and expected companion and uninterrupted exit. The flames would likely grow with all of the left over booze and what not littering the other tables, which would mean the entire building would soon be lit ablaze and allow the fire to spread to the nearby houses neighboring it. If a few blazing ships wouldn't be enough to spread the marines thin, then surely an entire town block would.

"The more fire the better! Now, lead the way to the docks, kid, we ain't got much time!" Slade had every intention of following Tyson's suggested plan. He'd lend his sly hand to their cause and they'd help him, and then they'd be out at sea. However, Slade was a man of his word when it absolutely benefited him, and once Water 7 was a dot on the horizon, like the kid said, he might as well toss em overboard... He'd have to wait and see about that, though, at least until the ship's sails were fully unrolled and all the preparations were carried out.

He'd been easier to convince than Tyson had expected. Perhaps, and this was quite the long shot mind you, there was some merit to Fisher's oddly direct style of recruitment. Getting a better look at the one eyed man now that he had fully cast aside his false intoxication from earlier, it was becoming quite clear that he was exactly the sort that they could use in a pirate crew. Decent build and a good sense of balance hinted at athleticism but more importantly he definitely had a strategical mind sharper than Tyson's own. Finally, he was a damn nut job. Taking care to stay out of the way of the matches, Tyson quickly made an exit from the bar as the eye patched man set the entire building ablaze. Useful or not, they'd need to keep an eye on his at all times if he kept up this behavior.

"That's just about enough of the "kid" stuff. Call me Tyson," he said, laying a hand upon his neck to work out a kink, eyes scanning the area for the location of their prize. Almost instantly, Mikal caught sight of the high rising central mast of Dock One's latest and greatest creation. Gesturing towards it, Tyson took off at a light jog on the heels of a passing mob of carpenters. "There it is. Just make sure not to shoot the wind guy in glasses!"

OOC: I've been informed that we'll need a separate topic with a title matching the task. I'll make it later today and we can continue with the actual battle against the Marines. If Corban wants to post an exit from this topic, I certainly have no objections.