Modus Operandi
Modus Operandi
1. A method of operating or functioning.
2. A person's manner of working.
Cruising for a Bruising:
SS Black Flame
2:17pm
Wednesday 25th October 2011
Destination: Sunshine Island
The SS Black Flame, known throughout the regions of Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, Akki and even Wano as the largest luxury cruise liner known to man and Pokémon alike. Its bleach white upper decks and outer shell played host to men clad in nothing but shorts and occasionally hats; women clad in bikinis and children of various ages and sizes either sunbathing, enjoying a nice, quiet read or playing in the generously sized, chlorine free swimming pool. Pokémon and sun burns were also in abundance along the course of the upper decks, while going below deck did nothing to slow the tide of the term luxurious.
The sleeping quarters, complete with a number of Jacuzzis, formed only a portion of the areas located immediately beneath the upper deck. Flanking these quarters was the entertainment district of the ship. This hub comprised of a nightclub complete with pole dancers and frequently drunk patrons, a small shopping centre, larger swimming pools and even a large mini golf course.
On the course at that moment was a level headed, stoic Floatzel. His fur being an unusual jet black in colour predominantly with the occasional flashes of orange, cream and a large turquoise circle atop his head, his most notable feature; a yellow float was seemingly missing from his body. Instead he was clad in a smart, well fitting black tuxedo complete with a red bow around the area of his upper chest to neck.
Sizing up the fifth hole of the offered eighteen, the Floatzel placed the lime green golf ball in his temporary possession on the tee. Preparing the hardened golf club, also only a temporary possession, he then rolled his orange-yellow eyes in frustration as a set of cocky, overly talkative gangsters stood behind him, waiting for the availability of the aforementioned fifth hole. Uncaring of the Floatzel's mere presence, they spoke of their objectives.
"We need to ship the fucking drugs to Goldenrod City, man; we cannot afford to fuck up our objectives…" One elaborated, causing his two associates to nod in agreement. The so called well spoken gang member proudly wore a 'peace sign' gesturing pendant around his neck, suggesting he was once of religious discretion. All of them however looked 'Latino' in origin with tanned white skin and accents that struggled with the concept of English. All were clad in simple white vests and three-quarter length denim shorts, notably with nothing on their feet.
The Floatzel, still equally annoyed and seemingly intrigued by their conversation, struck the ball forth with the club, causing it to surge onwards over the hole's large ramp and narrowly miss the whole itself by mere centimetres.
The Floatzel tutted as a result of his lack of luck. This was further compounded once the impatience of the gangsters had reared its ugly head and just as he set off to take another stroke and complete the hole, one of them spoke up rather loudly.
"Yo it's time you hurried up, esé…we haven't got all fucking day here…" The gangster complained causing the Floatzel, name of Odin Vándr, to pause and turn his head to glare at the three of them.
"I don't see any signs around here dictating that I should…" Odin replied bluntly, his voice deep and hoarse.
One of the trio approached him with angry stomps and pushed against one of the Floatzel's muscular arms, causing Odin to rear back a couple of steps from the intended force.
"Yeah well, homes we have places to fucking be…now move it!" The gangster demanded almost threateningly, causing others on the mini golf course to instinctively look over at the developing events out of curiosity whilst talking amongst themselves.
Odin snarled disgustedly, his usual calm demeanour tested. Turning around quickly, he swung the golf club he still clutched violently. The main end connected with the gangster's cheek with bone crunching force, causing not only the gruesome snapping sound of the gangster's jaw dislocating, but also the sight of a tooth flying from his mouth. The tooth bounced along the green fabricated material of the fifth hole a few times before coming to rest, leaving small crimson spots of blood wherever it travelled.
The gangster instinctively covered his bruised cheek and mouth as more blood dripped, staining his vest and tanned skin as he reeled back in shock.
"What was that for, you fucking cunt? I barely fucking touched you…" The injured gangster remonstrated and was held back by his comrades in case of further retaliation from the Floatzel.
"I believe you're the cunt here…you are the one showing yourself up…" Odin mocked in response as he played on a borderline smirk. However it evaporated shortly after when more problems had arisen in the shape of the mini golf course's operator.
"Excuse me, sir…that is not a way to treat the equipment you are given…and using it against another is against the rules and regulations. I suggest you leave immediately…"
The operator held a stoic and deadly serious expression on his face as he glared at Odin whom due-fully returned the favour.
"Fine…I will leave…but I will say that I am a vigilante at work, and I use whatever it takes to get the job done…" Odin replied at last as he approached the operator's cabin and placed the golf club and ball on the counter.
The operator and the male Floatzel continued to glare passively at one another, lending the whole situation a solid vibe of unneeded tension.
"I don't care if you're a vigilante or a guy dressed in a clown suit. You are breaching the regulations you agreed on when you came on here." The operator spoke up at last, reminding Odin of the rules once again as he placed the club and ball in wooden boxes beneath the counter.
Odin turned his back on the cabin as he clutched a cigarette and a lighter. Lighting the former with the latter, he half submerged the soft tube of tobacco in his mouth before preparing to speak to the operator one last time without looking back.
"That so? Well my line of work allows me to use anything I may have at hand. I could use your face if I deemed it necessary." He remarked, smirking. The operator however was rather disgusted at the tone of the remark and noted it could have been seen as a threat on his life.
"I will get you thrown off this ship if I have to…!" The operator called after the Floatzel whom had by now passed through the mini golf course's exit gate. Odin only smirked as he descended a staircase down towards the private, luxury bedrooms, one of which he had rented for himself.
Passing a number of barely clad holiday makers, Odin took out a key from his tuxedo and prepared to make use of it to unlock his rented room. As he did though, the key slipped from his grasp and hit the ground. Grumbling calmly, Odin bent down to retrieve the keys. While he did, a trio of fellow Pokémon; including a Raichu, a Buizel and a Grovyle, stopped to admire the view of his backside.
All of them were inevitably female and the Buizel placed her fingers in her mouth and performed a loud and attention seekingly shrill whistle.
Now having retrieved the key in his paw again, Odin then turned around just as the trio took off laughing amongst themselves.
"What is wrong with normal life nowadays?" Odin muttered to himself in a deep, guttural tone of voice. Shaking his head in moral disgust, he then finally placed the key in the lock on the door and turned it to the right a little before hearing a satisfying click.
Brushing the door then with his large paw, it slowly opened with minimal sound…