Grand Voyage- Log 1

Well, here we are folks. The debut of Grand Voyage. Nothing much to say, but... enjoy!

Log 1- The Boy From the Sea
The row boat washed up on shore around noon, gently sliding into the smooth sand that made up the beach of the small South Blue Island. Due to it being around 1 PM, few in the village stirred at the slight shishinnnng noise that the boat made as it slid into the sand. And thus, the figure who lay sleeping within it was not bothered or awoken for the rest of the night....

As the golden tinge of the sun began to creep over the village, the figure within the rowboat finally began to move. “Meehhhh....” the figure yawned, stretching slightly before standing up, allowing the sun to illuminate him.

The boy, no, young man in the boat could be considered handsome by most’s definition. He was regularly sized for one his age, standing at a nice 5 feet and 9 inches. His body was lean yet muscular, and he had striking neon green hair that looked as though it had never been near a comb in his life. He wore simple cargo jeans, with the ends rolled up, exposing training bandages wrapped around his ankles and continuing into his simple navy blue moccassins. On his chest he wore a white tank top, and around his neck was a nice cotton scarf that trailed slightly behind him. More training bandages were wrapped around his hands, even covering his lower forearms. HIs skin was fairly unblemished and somewhat pale, with a slight tan.

The young man stretched once again, then dropped his hands to his sides, clutching his waist in a semi-heroic pose. His black eyes quickly scanned the village. “....Where the heck am I?” he asked, a comical bit of sweat on the back of his head, “last I checked I was heading straight into the heart of that cool-looking cyclone.... Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea?”

Unfortunately, before the young man could continue this thought process, a loud rumbling in his area alerted him. While most would frantically look around for shelter, or perhaps a crack in the ground to illustrate the earthquake that had to have just occurred, the young man’s eyes immediately shot to his stomach, which had contracted a bit since he woke up.

The young man sighed, eyes closing, an expression of exasperation on his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all my supplies the first night. I’ve gotten myself into plenty of trouble.” the young man shook his head, “Called it. Not my fault. Now, onto more important things...”

And with that, the young man leaped onto the shore, then, following his nose and stomach, took off towards the village.

Vice Admiral Sieghart’s eyes snapped open as a loud rapping sound came from his door. He quickly rolled to the right, on reflex, only for his forehead to smash painfully against the blue-painted wall. Letting out a small groan and ignoring the comical welt that began to form after the impact, the Marine rolled the other way quickly, toppling off of the soft, cool cotton bed he called his and landing on the racecar-patterned rug that covered most of the room’s floor.

“Are you alright, sir?” the young woman known as Kinan’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sieghart replied, pulling himself to his feet, making flicking motions with his fingers as quick green bursts seemed to knock the buttons that held together his sleeping shirt apart. The shirt, now open, dropped to the floor, as another flick and another green burst sent the nearby closet’s door banging open, “I’ll be out in a minute. Go ahead to the briefing room.”

“You and I both know you wouldn’t be able to find your way there,” Kinan replied, as the rapping recommenced.

“I know, I know!” Sieg replied irritably, “just... tell Hammer and Gerard that I might be a little late, okay?”

“Fine, but I’ll use the Ko Den Den Mushi,” Kinan’s voice came again, “I’m not just leaving you here.”

“But-” Sieghart tried to say before the familiar ‘biribiribiribiribiri’ of Kinan’s Ko Den Den Mushi reached his ears. “Gah, dammit,” the Vice Admiral swore before quickly striding over to the closet, only stopping to glance at a picture of a young girl, hair the same color as his, before continuing, pulling his usual attire out of the closet, “this had better be good.”

The door of the village’s main cafe was flung open, as the waitresses, cooks, and the few patrons who were up early and waiting to be served glanced at the door, prepared to greet what was sure to be another member of the town. They would be disappointed, as what appeared to be a green flash shot from the doorway and deposited itself on the counter, nearly dislodging an old man just a few inches away.

“Sorryossan,” shot out the blur, as it slowly faded into the form of the young man from earlier, as he began pounding his fists on the counter, “foodfoodfoodfoodpleaseI’mreallyhungryandIswearIhavehtemoneyordoI?Iforgetnowjustpleasepleasepleasepleasefoodfoodfoodfood!”

The closest waitress stepped up, holding out a menu. “Well, what will it be, si-”

“Alittlebitofeverything,” the young man shot out, “pleasepleasepleaseI’mreallyhungryso-” Suddenly, all energy seemed to sporadically drain from the young man’s body, as his face smashed onto the counter, a near-death expression on his face. He now spoke in a somewhat terrifying rasp. “Pppllleeeeeasssseee....”

“You’re late,” the black haired Rear Admiral known by most as Gerard grumbled as Sieghart and Kinan rushed by him. He jumped down from the small bench that he had been sitting on and followed them across the square, to the other side of the Marine headquarters.

“Sorry,” Sieghart replied, “button got stuck again!”

“That shouldn’t have kept you for three hours!” Gerard yelled, glaring at his superior, his eyes now pure white.

“Hey, hey,” Sieg replied, “those buttons can be quite devilish, I tell ya. One even tried to kill my best friend, back in the day.”

“Back in WHAT day?” Gerard growled back, “you’re only 27, dammit. You don’t HAVE a day yet!”

“I can if I want to,” Sieghart answered huffily.

“Like hell you can!”

“Can!”

“Can’t!”

“Can!”

“Can’t!”

“Can-”

Sieghart’s next verbal assault was interrupted as Kinan’s gloved left hand came down on his neck, as several miniscule needles woven into the fiber snapped into life, applying minute acupuncture treatment to the Vice Admiral. That, and the force of the blow applied, made for quite a blow.

“GHMPGH!” Sieghart cried, toppling to the floor, and smacking his face against the pavement. Almost instantly a small sleeping bubble formed from his nose.

Kinan reached down, snatching her superior up by his shirt color and throwing him behind her, holding onto him piggy-back style. “Come on,” she said to Gerard, “we’ll make faster time if he isn’t arguing with you.”

“R-right,” Gerard replied, a sweatdrop forming on the back of his head in pure fear of Sieghart’s assistant.

255 pounds of curry.

60 bowls of ramen.

122 loaves of bread

100 loaves of bread with butter

65 steaks

300 large chicken legs.

That was only a fairly small portion of the amount of food the young man was consuming at an incredible rate. In fact, the other patrons in the cafe (some who had also arrived minutes earlier), had ceased eating their own meals and were simply watching the marimo boy as he efficiently cleaned the place out.

While this was going on, one of the waitresses, having already grown numb to his speed (and the fact that this speed was likely going to rob her of her job soon), and was making idle chitchat/gossip with the lad.

“Dshartagshan?” the young man asked, taking another large bite from the current leg of chicken he was holding.

“Mhm hmm,” the waitress replied, “he is.... was the newest person on the island (until you showed up of course).”

“Whatsh he like?” the young man replied, shoving the last of the leg (bone and all), into his mouth, then reaching over and pulling over a large plate of pilaf.

“No idea,” the waitress said simply, “I’ve never met him. Most people don’t even see him, even when they’re doing buisness with him. He runs a money-loaning business, you see.” She giggled a bit. “Even though most who’ve talked to him say he always seems to be in a bad mood whenever he talks about money.”

The lad leaned back in his chair, having somehow completely cleaned off all the plates in front of him. “Money loaning, eh?” he asked, rubbing his chin in an attempt to make it seem like he was thinking deep thoughts, “think I’ll go talk to him then. Where does he live?”

“The small mansion up on the hill to the east,” the waitress replied, “and why would you need to talk to him?”

The boy moved in a lighting fast motion, leaping off his chair and sprinting for the door. “Because I don’t have any money to pay you with! Ciaosusususususususu!”

“What?!” the inhabitants of the cafe cried, their eyes bulging out in shock, “HE ATE THAT MUCH AND HE CAN’T PAY FOR ANY OF IT?!”

“Sorry guys!” the young man called back as he sped towards the east, “I’ll pay you back in a bit! Just let me talk to this Art guy!”

“IT’S D’ARTAGNAN!” came the yells of the partitioners as the marimo boy made his way towards the large mansion.

“Two Knife Style: Bleeding Willow Slash!”

Two slashes of compressed air flew into a small training dummy, leaving deep cuts on it. These cuts were but two of a large number that covered the small wooden mock-human, a testament to the trainer’s skill.

The owner of the said two knives slid them into two small hollisters at his sides, then snatched up a clean linen towel from a nearby rack and quickly rubbed the sweat off his blonde hair. The towel also temporarily ghosted along his thin and pointed ears, before being returned to the rack from which it came.

The owner then pulled up the robes that were hanging from the small rope belt on his waist, quickly wrapping them around his body and pushing his hands out of the sleeves. Quickly shaking off the last bits of sweat, the owner strode over to the small hidden door that lead out of the training room.

He stepped out into a chilly hallway, with few to no lights. He let out a small yawn, stretching his arms, then made his way down a set of oak stairs to a small viewing room, with walls of dark beach and only two fluffy armchairs for furniture.

The man known as D’Artagnan sat down on the armchair farthest from the door, leaning back, his amber-colored eyes flickering at the door. “Let him in,” he said, speaking to a small manservant who was almost invisible when against the wall.

“Yes, si-” the butler said, reaching and opening the door, peering out. A sweatdrop quickly formed at the back of his head. “Err.... sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it appears as though our guest has decided to go..... exploring.”

“WHAT?!”

“This house is so big and awesome!” the marimo boy cried, his eyes assuming the likeness of stars, as he clung to a large chandelier, looking downward at the decently sized dining hall, “can just giving people money really make you this-”

“Two Knife Style: Single Knife Thrust!”

“Yikes!” the young man yelled, untangling his legs and letting himself crash onto the table beneath him as a compressed air slash flew just where he had been seconds ago, lightly nicking the glass.

The young man pulled himself up, as D’Artagnan, holding two knives, one held upright, and the other with the blade facing down, marched into the room, four veins popping on the right side of his forehead.

“You’ve got a lot of guts, punk,” the money loaner growled, “to break in and try and rob me!” His eyes suddenly became consumed in flames, “BUT YOU’LL DIE BEFORE YOU TOUCH A SINGLE CENT!”

“Ulp,” the lad gulped aloud, as D’Artagnan moved closer...

“You’re late,” Vice Admiral Hammer growled as Kinan and Gerard barged in (with Sieghart still on her back). The other Vice Admiral was a titan of a man, with a body seemingly made entirely of squares, and was covered in scars. His marine cap was pulled tightly over his eyes, obscuring them. Only small bits of his brown hair emerged from the ends of the cap.

“Please forgive us for this transgression,” Kinan replied, bowing slightly and allowing Sieghart to drop to the floor, “our Vice Admiral slept in late.”

Hammer snorted. “Waste of time, Sieg is,” he muttered, “if Revolutionaries are the only people he’s willing to kill then he might as well be a private again.” He leaned over his desk, staring down at his sleeping compatriot. “NOW GET YOUR ASS UP!”

Sieghart started, seemingly teleporting to his feet. “I wasn’t sleeping!” he cried, “I was just... resting my eyes!”

“With your telltale bubble coming out of your nose?” Hammer asked wryly.

“Sh*t!” Sieghart cried, slamming his foot against the ground like a 3-year old after having his toy taken away. He straightened again, sighed, and continued on. “What do you want this time, Hammer?”

“Order’s come down from up top,” Hammer replied, waving a telegram-esque sheet in Sieghart’s face. The other Vice Admiral snatched it up and glanced at it. “Looks like that boy has finally started to move.”

Sieghart glanced down, at the picture of the young boy who was currently evading D’Artagnan’s swipes grinned up at him. He looked down at the orders: KILL IF POSSIBLE.

~End of Log 1~

N/A | Next Chapter



