Rowdy was slumped against the bar, face buried in his crossed arms. He was staring at a small, paper umbrella sticking out of his empty glass, suddenly finding it just about the most fascinating and captivating things he'd ever seen. If you took the time to look at the kid, you'd immediately notice two things. First; his nose, which was long and triangular. Then if you could tear your gaze away from his nose, you'd probably notice his eyes were glazed over so thoroughly you would probably think he had died right there, staring at the umbrella. But really, he was okay, just incredibly drunk. Rowdy had the bad habit of entering bars and ordering their strongest drink, hoping it'd put hair on his chest. But really, the stuff that made hair explode on your chest doubled as a strong acid or was used for incapacitating people. And by incapacitate I mean kill. But at least you'd die with a chest a kin to a woolly mammoth. But still, in the vein hope that one day his wish would come true, he frequented every bar he could find, sometimes even sailing across the ocean on a raft to nearby islands just to accost their bars. And it always ended the same way; a fight.

Rowdy was rowdy. He liked fighting. A lot. Some sane people would say too much. But if you were to have a psychiatrist examine Rowdy, he'd probably find nothing wrong with him. Some people like sports, or swimming, Rowdy liked fighting. Nothing wrong with that, really. Just a quirk. Unless you made a point of seeking fights solely with people bigger than you. Then, there was a problem. For you. Now, years of fighting almost nonstop had made Rowdy into a pretty good fighter, but big guys could take punches, and drunken guys often didn't fight with fists alone. Generally, they implemented broken glasses, or stools, of tables, or YOU and used you as a weapon to beat up the table. And that was another problem with Rowdy. He, though drunk, still tried to fight professionally. He took on a stance and through proper punches and kicks like a trained expert. The problem was while he was doing that, the other guy was grabbing a pool stick and sneaking up behind him. There were three out comes to these fights. The Good: Rowdy wins. The Bad: Rowdy loses. The Ugly: Rowdy wins but only by outlasting the other guy, leaving his body totaled, and the bar destroyed. Well, all of them ended with the bar destroyed, because Rowdy was a destructive person by nature. Things around him just seemed to break. Some attribute it to bad luck, some attribute what I just said to being an excuse put forth by some jerk kid with issues, who gets off on breaking things. So, after winning or losing, Rowdy would wake up the next morning with a killer hangover a few blocks from the bar, which was now in ruins. Then, Rowdy would get up, find the nearest bully, incite a quick morning brawl, steal the kid's money, buy some breakfast and return home. Rowdy's life wasn't a conventional one, nor was it an elegant one, but it was his and he lived it how he liked.

"Kid, it's closing time." Said the bartender.

"You let an underage kid in here drinking, can't you break one more rule and let me stay a little longer?" Rowdy said automatically.

"No. I let you buy booze cause you order the kind no one else is crazy enough to drink, but I want to go home, so you have to, also."

Well this isn't right at all, thought Rowdy, How did I miss everyone leaving? I didn't drink… Rowdy fell out of his stool, that much, did I? And my knuckles are disappointingly un-sore. What's going on?

"You ok there, kid?"

Rowdy hadn't bothered to stand up, so was lying on the floor staring at the unknown stain on the ceiling with a distant, philosophical expression.

"Of course." Said Rowdy evenly. He stood up and paid his tab, then left. He stepped out onto the street and glanced around.

None of these people look like they'd put up a good fight. Rowdy thought, frowning slightly.

"There ya are!" Rowdy turned slowly and saw Kaku walking up the street at him.

"What're you doing here?" Rowdy asked.

"Figured you'd want a good night sleep and everything, for tomorrow."

"Oh right. Tomorrow." Rowdy said nodding.

"You forget or something?" Kaku asked, tilting his head to one side quizzically.

"No... just... wasn't thinking about it I guess."

"Not thinking about it?" Kaku cracked a smile, "How could you not think about it?"

"I don't know." Rowdy said flatly, "So. Not gonna try and stop us?"

"Nah. I have no right to keep you from chasing your dream."

"And you aren't worried about us at all?"

"Should I be?" Kaku smiled, "I've known you long enough to trust you."

"So, I suppose we should head home then."

"Yeah! Dinner's ready!"

"Guess I'll go get the raft."

"Ah. Leave it. I got a much more awesome way to get back home." Kaku winked.

"Seriously? Don't you think I'm a bit old?"

"Oh, come on. You'll miss it once you leave." Kaku nudged him, "Just one more time?"

"Fine."

Rowdy climbed on Kaku's shoulders and he transformed into a giraffe. Upon working up a running start, Kaku leapt into the air and Moon-Walked across the small gap between this island and Jaya. They touched down on the beach and Rowdy slid off Kaku's back.
"You can't tell me you don't feel cool riding a giraffe."

"You're right, I can't." Rowdy conceded, having forgotten how fun it was.

"I'd carry you the rest of the way, but I'm not as young as I used to be." Kaku said, rubbing his back in the way all people do when talking about how old they are. Really though, Kaku probably could have. Heck, he definitely could have. It had only been 30 years since he was the member of CP9 that fought the great Zoro. Granted, it's not like he'd been training much in those years. After Lucci got fixed up and CP9 hunted down Spandam they got back to their home land and became instructors. But apparently after awhile, the island was destroyed by pirates who were out to eliminate the Cipher Pols.

"It's cool."