Ramirez ascended the last set of stairs from the lobby to the battler's lounge, the latest pair of Victory Medals in his hand. He shoved them into his jacket pocket, where they jingled against the others he had gotten in the other matches he'd defeated Sampson in. Two more, and I achieve C Rank. Then he'd be able to fight Sampson and this arena's C Ranker, Sudou...

He narrowed his eyes as he turned his head, his attention brought over to a figure standing at the far edge of the battler's lounger, looking down on the lobby below. Ramirez watched the figure a moment, then began to walk over. He passed the other gladiators along the way, the C Ranker Sudou, who watched him pass by silently; Sampson, who grinned and flipped him a thumbs up; Genius, who was busy scribbling away in a notepad and examining his Trotmobile; and the mysterious Saffron, who wore a provocative purple outfit of lingerie, elbow-length gloves, fishnet stockings, high-heeled boots and a mask, and held a whip in her hand - she merely gave him a disdainful once over with her eyes.

Ramirez approached the man from behind as he looked down at the lobby, but he never turned to acknowledge his presence. He wore a white suit with dark grey button-down shirt, a red ruffled scarf, and a v-shaped mask with flared ends below his slicked back blonde hair. He watched him a moment before the man finally asked, "Did you want something with me?" in neutral tones.

"Nothing, no," Ramirez replied, eyeing the figure with interest. He knew who this man must be - he was known as Elder, the current champion of the Trotmobile arenas from winning the UTC, the Ultimate Trotmobile Championship. He'd held the title for a while now, and was rumored to be ruthless in battle.

Elder remained silent a while, still looking down at the lobby, one hand resting at his waist. "You... You're a Gladiator, aren't you?"

Ramirez inclined his head forward. "I'm Ramirez."

Elder once again fell silent, considering. Then, "Why do you ride Trotmobiles?"

Ramirez wondered briefly why he wasn't getting annoyed at this line of questioning. "I like them," he replied. "They're useful."

Elder gave a short chuckle, a cold sound devoid of any real humor. "I see," he said. "So, your Trotmobile will never betray you, will it?" Before Ramirez could begin to consider how to answer that question, Elder continued. "Whether the Trotmobile's a useful tool for everyday life, or a useless hunk of metal... That all depends on how you choose to use it."

He fell silent again. Then, "...I'll be waiting for the day you achieve S Rank."

Ramirez watched Elder, feeling a surge of respect. He realized why a moment later - the UTC champion reminded him of himself, and of Lord Galcian. A formidable man, he thought, bowing his head briefly to Elder's back, then turning and walking back to Corvus.

--

The streets were less crowded as Ramirez piloted his Trotmobile back to the Lobster Inn due to the late hour. The electric streetlights were on, and the sky overhead was a starless black with the glare of Happy Garland drowning out the scatter of lights. He parked Corvus in the lot, then made his way inside wearily. The Trotmobile battling had been tiring yet... satisfying. Of course, so is any sort of battle. Fighting brought him outside of himself, into an exalted state where the power he wielded crushed his foes before him... and let him forget the past.

Dustin, the owner of the Lobster Inn, waved as he walked in. "Hey there, I have a message for you.

"It's from the Globetrotters," he clarified as he handed over a letter. Ramirez ripped the envelope open and read the letter, expressionless. Inside, he felt a sinking feeling. Creatures attacking Vision Ranch... He knew from the travels he'd had through this country that its main problem was bandits, not hostile animals. But Vision Ranch is right next to Lake Luminoso, and above Lake Luminoso...

Ramirez slowly folded the letter again and slipped it back into the envelope before sliding it into his pocket. Beasts must be bleeding through the vortex from Arcadia, he thought as he nodded his thanks to the owner. He pulled out the envelope and paper from Dandelion and handed them over, saying, "Give these to the Globetrotters when you next see them."

Ramirez tried to think about tactics that might be useful when he returned to the arena the next day, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the letter. He'd done his best to remain anonymous here, but if beasts not native to this land - this world - were suddenly appearing...

Nobody could have foreseen this happening, he thought. Not even Lord Galcian considered the possibility. As he removed his suit jacket, vest and shoes in preparation for going to sleep, he suddenly smiled. There is one positive to this situation. Now we shall see how Trotmobiles fare against Arcadian beasts. That should help prove whether they'll be useful to the Armada.

--

Vanilla descended from the cockpit of the Earl Grey II and hopped down the last few feet, landing next to Connie. As he straightened, Connie was staring at the portion of Wagtail Canyon where the Civilian Army was mustering. "Oh my..."

Vanilla also found himself staring; crowding a large portion of the canyon just before it opened into the field of Vision Ranch was a great flock of sheep and a few other cattle, herded together by a young boy and a familiar pudgy man, as well as a familiar Trotmobile with one wing frame and a normal arm frame. Beyond them there were masses of mostly black and white Trotmobiles lined against the canyon walls, next to stalls selling various items with people wandering between them.

"Oh, hey there!" Willie had noticed the new arrivals and walked over. "Vanilla, right? We met when the Flap Flyer ran into your Trotmobile."

Vanilla shook his hand, then looked past him at the scene ahead of them. "What happened here?" he asked.

Willie turned to look at the sheep and sighed. "These crazy monsters started showing up a few days ago. One of 'em attacked me and my brother Otto and we managed to kill it, but more of them kept showing up. They started attacking our family's sheep and livestock in the field and the guys working on the railroad, until we couldn't set foot outside our house without getting attacked. We went to Nefroburg to ask for help, and..." He waved at the Trotmobiles and the people, which seemed to be answer enough. "My brother Otto and I are helping herd the sheep, but we'd sure like to be able to get back to our experiments."

"Don't worry," Vanilla replied, nodding to him. "We'll help clear out these monsters so your family can go home again."

"We'd all appreciate it," Willie said, nodding back.

Vanilla and the rest of the Garland Globetrotters, excluding Savory, headed over towards a group of blue-uniformed policemen standing near the black-and-white Trotmobiles. Fennel suddenly pointed at the man addressing the group, saying, "That's Commander Ferguson of the Civilian Army. He's also on the police force. Come on, let's go introduce ourselves."

As they approached, the policemen hurried off to their tasks and Vanilla got his first good look at Ferguson. He was an older man, looking to be in his late 30s, with a small moustache and strong features. He wore a typical policeman's uniform, except that his steel helmet had a small plume of red horsehair sticking out of the top, his tunic was a dark blue, and he wore gray elbow-length gloves and had grey pants.

Commander Ferguson noticed them approaching and nodded to them, one hand resting at his waist. "The Garland Globetrotters, I presume?" he asked, his accent cultured. "A pleasure to meet you all." He noticed Vanilla and looked at him, asking, "Who is this?"

"I'm Vanilla, nice to meet you," Vanilla replied, waving a hand briefly.

"Ah, I've heard rumors," Ferguson said. "You drove the Killer Elephants from Nefroburg and defeated Dudley! The Civilian Army needs more men like you." He smiled charmingly. "What do you say? Care to join?"

"Yes, sir!" Vanilla said, nodding.

"Excellent. I'll be counting on you." He turned to look at the rest of the Globetrotters. "I extend the same offer to all of you. The Civilian Army will need all of you if we are to emerge victorious over these foul creatures."

Marjoram and Basil were quick to volunteer, but Connie looked uncomfortable. "Um... I'd like to help out, but I don't have a Trotmobile..."

"That should be no trouble at all, Miss Coriander," Ferguson replied. "Not everyone in the Civilian Army shall be fighting in the frontline. Equally as important are the support staff needed to help maintain both the men and machines until we are ready to take to the field."

"Alright, I'll do my best," Connie said, nodding.

"Speaking of support staff, I've heard that you handle the scheduling and accounting of the band, Marjoram," Ferguson went on. "I could use a good man in charge of resources. The Army is running short of food, and we'll need someone to oversee supply transport."

Marjoram briefly looked surprised, then his face firmed and he nodded. "I'll do it, Commander."

"Excellent," Ferguson replied. "We should discuss the Army's immediate needs. If you'll excuse us..."

Vanilla walked away, looking around at all the Trotmobiles gathered in one place, then blinked as he saw a familiar face standing behind a table heaped with pots and plates. As he walked over, the older woman spotted him and said, "Hey, you. You seem to be doing well."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Vanilla asked Miss Echinacea; the last time he'd seen her, she'd given him the idea to go confront the Boss of the Killer Elephants in their hideout.

"I couldn't just sit around with everyone here taking on those things out there. I wanted to help," she answered. Her eyes rose to look around at the masses of men and machines gathered around, and continued. "But... this is bigger than I could have imagined. It's a real war going on." She sighed, then got a gleam in her eyes. "But nevermind that. How far have you and Connie gone?"

"Um..." Vanilla floundered for an answer, taken aback. Eventually, he decided to play it safe. "We're in a band together," he said, nodding.

"If you ask me, I think she's got a thing for you. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink." She chuckled a bit, then continued, "Best of luck to you. At any rate, stop by whenever you're hungry, and I'll sneak you a treat."

Vanilla waved his farewell, and executed his first military maneuver: he retreated quickly. He felt his face burning with embarassment as the words Miss Echinacea said ran through his mind. I like Connie, yeah, and there's something about her... He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched forward as he wandered around, lost in thought.

He was so distracted, it took a while for Marjoram to find him. "Oh, there you are," he said when he finally tracked him down. "Commander Ferguson would like you to help with acquisition. The roads are filled with bandits, so not just anyone can do it."

"Anything I can to help," Vanilla said, nodding.

"We need you to go to Skylark Farms, on the road between Happy Garland and Neuhafen. You'll transport wheat from there back to the camp here."

Vanilla blinked in surprise. Across the Sabbia Desert again!? He rubbed the back of his head. "Alright, I'll do it." If anything, it'll help distract me...

--

Gilder and a good portion of the crew of the Claudia headed up the stairs of the Neuhafen Arena, ignoring the stares of the dockworkers and sailors that had watched as the pirate ship flew overhead and landed next to one of the docks in the harbor. The captain in his red duster had a grin on his face as he reached the balcony above a large door that was apparently for access by the weird walking vehicles he'd seen.

"This should be fun," he commented aloud as he walked into the arena, his crew at his heels. He'd made his rounds at Sailor's Island, Nasrad, Maramba and even a few trips to Valua itself - one of which had involved a hasty escape from Upper City after he had a fun time with a Valuan noble's daughter. But this place was brand new, and the scores of ships tied up at the docks he'd seen from overhead promised that it was able to entertain sailors. The building they were going into was the biggest one in town, and looked like it had promise.

The dull roar of the crowd inside the place made him want to rub his hands together. Yeah, this is the sort of place I'm looking for. It was a vast cavernous space inside, with a bar and a group of packed tables off to the right. The sailors gathered there were all burly guys with bandanas on their heads, white sleeveless shirts and blue denim pants - slightly different from the Arcadian sailors he knew, but not too far off.

Some of the sailors looked up in surprise as he walked among the tables over to the bar, blinking at his red duster and the sight of Willy with his leather helmet, goggles and small red bandana on his shoulder. Gilder reached the bar and leaned an elbow onto it as he squeezed between two sailors perched on stools. "Um... What'll you have?" the bartender asked, eyeing his outfit.

"What kind of loqua you got around here?" he asked, pitching his voice so that it carried over the noise.

The bartender frowned at the question. "Loqua? Never heard of that one. We have plenty of other spirits, though." He gestured to the shelves of glass bottles and piled barrels behind him.

Gilder's eyes lit as he took in the selection, and he pounded a fist down on the bar, laughing. The bartender jumped slightly, and the laborers on either side shot him curious looks. "Alright! I'll start with that one," Gilder started, pointing at the left bottle on the top shelf, "and work my way down from there!"

The bartender gaped at him, and the laborers at either side grinned. Gilder turned to look at the rest of the bar, feeling the weight of the gold in his pockets. "And a round for everyone!" A loud cheer echoed from the rafters.

--

"A Trotmobile battle and a cold one..." the refreshed sailor standing next to Gilder at the fence commented. "This is one fine day."

Gilder smiled and clinked his mug of beer against the sailor's, watching the two Trots battle in the arena just below. He winced slightly as one of them was picked up and thrown into the fence around the battle area, then cheered along with the rest of the sailors and laborers watching. "This isn't too bad," he shouted over the noise to his new friend - he'd made a whole bunch with that first round. Much better than the executions the Valuans put on, he thought as he took another swig from his mug, eyes on the fight below.

"They're real battles with lives hanging in the balance..." a laborer nearby said, his voice filled with passion. "That's why Trotmobile battles are so popular."

Gilder started to take a breath to shout an answer back, then let it out in a cheer as one of the Trots started spewing smoke and sagged to the ground. The other raised its arm frame in triumph for a bit before it exited the battle area. The sailor standing next to him smiled wryly as he handed some UR over to Gilder's outstretched hand. "Alright, alright, you were right about that one," he said, then grinned. "So how 'bout we get back to the pool table so I can win it back?"

Gilder mock-groaned and rolled his eyes. "You really know how to dampen a man's spirits, don't you?" He grinned back and walked back to the green-felt table, setting his mug down and picking up a cue. "Whose turn was it?" he asked as he chalked up the point of the stick. Billiards wasn't a game he was familiar with but was fun in its own way.

"Excuse me..." Gilder blinked and turned at the wheezy sounding voice, seeing a frail old man sitting in a red velvet upholstered wheelchair with a girl in a modest ankle-length gray dress at the handles behind it. A tall bald man in a dark suit stood behind the old man's at his right, while a shorter man with slicked blonde hair in a white suit stood to his left.

The old man looked up at him, his fingers - on which he wore several jeweled rings - steepled. "I am Don Puccini, the owner of this arena," he wheezed, his voice also hinting at some sort of accent. "Am I to understand that you are the man who owns the ship outside? The one that... flew into town today."

Gilder smiled and propped the butt end of the cue on the floor, leaning on it slightly. "Yeah, that's me. I'm Gilder, Captain of the Claudia."

Don Puccini smiled back and gave a wheezy laugh. "Fantabulous! I am very impressed! I did not know that such a thing was possible. But with more and more machines appearing every day, so many things are becoming possible."

The two men standing just behind the old man shared an uncertain look. Don Puccini, oblivious to their discomfiture, glanced around at the rowdy crowd filling the areas around the bar and the pool tables. "You seem to have livened things up since your arrival, Mister Gilder." He eyed the Air Pirate speculatively, then said, "I am celebrating the launch of my new luxury liner, the S.S. West Wind. I had invited the Garland Globetrotters to perform during its maiden voyage around the bay, but they were forced to decline due to troubles somewhere past Nefroburg. Perhaps I could persuade you to attend? I would like to hear more about you and your ship--the Claudia, wasn't it?"

Gilder grinned and tossed the cue onto the pool table. "Yeah, that's her name alright. And sure, I'm not one to turn down a free ride."

Don Puccini smiled and motioned to the girl at the handles, who turned the wheelchair and began pushing it towards the front of the arena. "Come with me, Mister Gilder," he said, and the Air Pirate began walking alongside the wheelchair. "Where did you purchase this ship?"

--

Don Puccini had surprised Gilder in several different ways. Through his conversations with the old man aboard his luxury liner he discovered that he pretty much ran the entire town of Neuhafen, but had worked his way up from a small wine-importing business. It made for a stark contrast to the inherited wealth of the nobles in Valua and Nasr, though merchants in the latter country were able to earn good livings.

Second, when Gilder told Don Puccini about how he had arrived in the country through a midair vortex, and that he came from a world where most ships flew, he had allowed himself to be persuaded that it was the truth instead of dismissing the possibility up front. His bodyguard and his assistant Jake had helped persuade him; the owner of the world's first flying ship would hardly go on his maiden flight to visit the Neuhafen Arena. Gilder himself was surprised to find out that flight by men hadn't happened here - that, in fact, the inhabitants of this world were stuck with lives on the ground.

That had rocked Gilder to the very core. When he thought about being stranded on an island somewhere, his first thought was to how he could live without women for an extended period. But being unable to fly!? It was so much an ingrained piece of Arcadian reality that it seemed just... wrong for others to look into the sky and not be able to feel the freedom of sailing through it.

"You ran a blockade to fly through this vortex?" Don Puccini had asked as he was wheeled along the deck of the West Wind with Gilder walking alongside him. The old man frowned slightly. "Who was enforcing this blockade?"

"Valua," Gilder answered. As he saw Puccini's frown deepen, he clarified. "The Valuan Empire. They think they're the rightful rulers of the world--Arcadia, I mean." He went on to tell him about the Imperial Armada and Valua's attempts at conquest and domination in the past, such as the Valua-Nasr War and the founding of Esparanza on Nasr's southernmost coast.

"And this Valua has control of the vortex between Arcadia and this world? This is... troubling to hear." Puccini's bushy eyebrows had lowered as he'd looked down at his steepled fingers and thought. "I am glad I have met you, Mister Gilder," he'd eventually said. "You have brought me very useful information." He'd smiled then, and looked at the crowd of finely dressed people who were clearly enjoying themselves, as well as the several lovely ladies eyeing the darkly handsome Arcadian. "In addition to making this maiden voyage one to remember. You're free to stay as long as you need. But, now I must be going. Ta!"

Gilder had mingled with the upper crust of Neuhafen, and had quickly struck up a conversation with one rich girl with blonde hair wearing a very complimentary silver dress with spaghetti straps and a low neckline. The other women at the party had been disappointed when he walked off the luxury liner with her when it docked again.

Some hours later, it was pitch black when Gilder hastily made his way out of a rich townhouse in Neuhafen's Central District, giving the rich girl one last kiss. "Farewell, my sweet Lucrezia," he said, then turned and hurried away, pulling his duster on the rest of the way and checking that he had both pistols in their holsters.

He was half smiling as he strode down the street, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a contented sigh. Willy flapped over and landed on his shoulder. "Ah, hey there," Gilder said, reaching into a pocket and feeding the bird a cracker from an hors d'oeuvre from the party. "Have fun?" he asked as Willy brought a foot up to hold the cracker, then started gnawing away at it with his beak. "I know I did," he continued, stroking the back of a finger along the feathers of the beast's wing briefly.

The Air Pirate walked along back to the Port District where the Claudia was docked. Gilder noticed several sailors and laborers shooting him, and especially Willy, looks as he went. He didn't mind it, really; he was used to being the center of attention, and even reveled in it. But why Willy? I know they've got birds around here. Finally, one sailor stopped him and asked, "Do you know that pretty woman with the parrot?"

"Woman with a parrot?" Gilder frowned and blinked, bemused. "Can't say-- ah, I forget. Where's she live?" He half smiled, resting a hand on his waist. Heh. 'Pretty woman', eh? This sounds worth checking out...

The sailor frowned and scratched his head. "Lessee... I know I heard somethin' about that. Um... Yeah, I heard someone was livin' in the old shack back that way," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "The one with a weird lookin' Trotmobile next to it."

"Thanks, pal," Gilder said, slapping the sailor on the arm and heading in that direction. He walked down a narrow pathway next to a restaurant and made his way to the back where an open space next to the railroad tracks opened up. Ahead he could see a small wooden shack, and next to it was a damaged purple Trotmobile with a body that looked like a ship. "This must be the place," he commented to himself, and walked up to the door to knock.

"What are you doing there, y'bilge rat?" a stern female voice called out. Gilder turned and suddenly stopped dead, feeling a small shock tingle through his body. Standing there was a woman wearing a pink blouse, purple skirt with a white arpon over them, a basket of yellow flowers on one arm and a parrot resting on her left shoulder, and she was... Beautiful, ran through Gilder's mind.

The woman blinked as she took in his appearance, then she nodded slowly. "You're... that man with the flying ship, aren't you?"

"Yeah..." He suddenly cleared his throat, resting a hand at his waist and forcing a half smile to his face - his usual approach to women. "Yeah. I'm Gilder, Captain of the Claudia. And who are you?"

She eyed him appraisingly, taking in his red duster and the sight of Willy on his shoulder, then smiled. "My name is Ciboulette. Captain Ciboulette, though you probably can't tell from these clothes."

Gilder grinned at her self-assured nature. What a woman. "Well, Captain Ciboulette... Maybe there's somewhere we can chat?"