"Came out of Yakzies(I miss that place), stood on a pile of old snow that was frozen solid, then I slid UNDER a parked cab. I bounced up, guessed nobody saw me, Wrong, they all started cheering." – A random bastard on a forum
It was the last night before the whore raid. That night, the pirates went ahead and hired the whores they intended to steal for that evening. The boys who were to raid the brothel remembered the appearance and name of every whore present. There were the stereotypical busty blondes, a cute preteen or two, the brunette chick who gave the best blow jobs, a couple of BDSM girls, another girl who supposedly had the tightest ham pocket in town, and also a girl who was willing to do anything: bestiality, scat, and torture that not even the other BDSM girls would comply with.
Killer debated the idea of keeping a dead body on board. Nah, the smell would become a problem in a few days, and he wasn't all that horny anyway. His management of his desires was something he was proud of. He could stay proud and stoic for weeks, sometimes months, without any desire to screw around. One of the crew with an especially low tolerance for alcohol was now stumbling through the room, babbling nonsense and eventually crashing into their new crew mate. Now how would she react? Nothing spectacular. He hoped she would have a massive outburst that would cause some sort of massive fight for no apparent reason, but no. She just shoved him onto the nearest couch and continued to talking to the guy in the corner. The man looked somewhat familiar. Ah well, doesn't matter to him. Killer continued watching over the crew. Many of the guys had gotten quite comfortable with their whores in various, out of the way corners in the bar. The bar was already dimly lit as is. He wondered what difference it made to sit in a corner to screw. Perhaps the false sense of privacy made the girls more compliant. Perhaps his crew mates weren't as impressive as they claimed. Now some idiot without a leg was attempting to dance on the table. Killer was getting bored and tired. He let out a long yawn and noticed a few locals abusing a whore in the corner. The guy who was screwing her suddenly pulled out and came in his hand. When the whore turned around, he threw his seed in her face and shouted, "BAM!" It was almost funny. Almost. No. Actually, it wasn't funny at all. Killer let out another yawn and put his head down on the table. If there was a guy here that wasn't a damned cripple or raving lunatic and wasn't part of his crew, then he could get a good fight in or two. Screw it, he'll just go beat up a loony.
"Oi, Killer. You look bored. I'm running low on booze money. How about we go raid a few bastards?"
Killer nodded and followed his captain out of the bar and stepped out into the cool air.
"Not that Killer could enjoy it," thought the captain, "especially with that ridiculous mask." His drinking earlier led to his thoughts being scattered and all over the place. Despite this, Kid came up with the brilliant idea of robbing a few pimps, so the marines wouldn't get involved. If Kid had a little less alcohol, his head might've been clear enough to realize that the pimps would send their own men after his crew. These men were the kind of men that wielded steel baseball bats which broke people's shins and puppy's faces.
The pair slashed open pockets, stole money bags, cheated whores of their due payments, pulled money from the thong of an exotic dancer, and inevitably killed a few of the poor bastards. The pimps were furious like angry hornets. However, these men were weak fucks who had to pay off strong fucks to beat up their attackers. The strong fucks, which in fact they were as the whores could promptly testify to this, stalked the two pirates, hoping to corner them in an alley. Such an encounter was not meant to be, and the strong fucks found themselves at Blue Moon Bar. They scanned the room and found their victims surrounded by men's three joys in life: women, booze, and food. One of the strong fucks attempted to slash Kid, but a degenerate sporting a mohawk drunkenly pushed the attack away from his captain. Killer noticed the unfortunate strong fucks. Alas, poor strong fuck. I never knew him. Strong fuck's fellow strong fuck companions began to reek of fear and made a mad dash out the door.
Rusla was still speaking with the man in the corner. Killer decided to listen in out of boredom.
"… blow up the marine base stationed in Barzak. You should probably use something that'd make a pretty explosion." Whispered the man.
"Hai, hai. So let me get this straight. In the next few days, a ship loaded with a variety of explosives will arrive at Ejrah port?" asked Rusla.
"Correct. It will be loaded onto a wagon and taken through-"
"Now wait. The marine base is on a river so it can have a hold on the towns' water supply. Why not just put the explosives on a barge and send it up the river to be exploded at the marine base? It's cheaper and-"
"faster, I know. But security has increased over the last few months. Even if we manage to kill the security guards, there is a good chance the base will be alerted and evacuated by the time the barge reaches base. We wouldn't have the shock value of added deaths. A high mortality rate is more discouraging to potential marines than an easily avoided, failed, bombing attack that could potentially increase patriotism." Reasoned the man.
Rusla nodded in agreement and left the table.
"New girl, you certainly have some peculiar hobbies. Not that we have any problem with it, but we would like to at least be aware when you indulge. None of us would appreciate getting caught in the middle of them," commented Killer as he walked towards her.
"Really? I think most men would enjoy catching me in the middle of my hobbies…" Killer chuckled at her response. "Heh, I understand. But assuming you guys try and play smart and avoid drawing attention to yourselves, there shouldn't be too much trouble. Just don't hang around a marine base. I have a tendency to wreck those."
"Hehehe, this crew can't make many promises on that." Kid joined in on the conversation.
Meanwhile, in another bar far away…
"I just can't believe the skill of that bastard!" A strong fuck wearing a clean pair of pants rambled. "He wiped the floor with this guy!" The strong fuck took a swig of his drink. "I bet his mask gives him some sort of power or something. Maybe he got a devil fruit. His captain," he took another gulp of his piss beer, "sure look like a devil."
"Naw, naw. No fackin way," said his drunk, strong fuck comrade who was also sporting a clean pair of pants. "Y'see, I betcha, little mask boy there is takin' the capt'n in the ass. I bet he boss that lil' devil boy around."
"No, I bet it's the other way around! How else do you keep a bastard like that in check?"
The two strong fucks laugh nervously.
"Aw shit man. What we do?" asked the second strong fuck.
"Well, we could hire a whole bunch of skilled bastards to get on their case."
"Or we could blow them out of the water with a cannon. I don't care who the fuck you are. I'm Charles. I actually get a name in this story so I'm clearly far more important than you. You're just a couple of comic relief characters who will probably die soon or be removed from the story."
"Wait wha?" the strong fucks said in unison.
"Shut up. I have something important to say. I am giving you the opportunity to make something of yourselves. A day or so ago, my bar's reputation was tarnished by a devilish pirate boy. The cleanup effort cost me quite a sum of money. From various whisperings, rumors, and bribes, I've come to the conclusion that these pirates will leave early tomorrow morning. I want you to wreck their sails or something. Anything to stall them long enough until the cannon I ordered arrives. That will be around lunch time. See? The job isn't too difficult. If you time it right, you won't have to face those two, troublesome members of the crew. If you're even luckier, you might manage to steal some loot. All while avoiding the possible death sentence that the narrator might give you."
The strong fucks stared at the man, completely and utterly confused.
"So we gettin' money right?"
"Oh of course. A million belli for each of you."
"Then we accept."
"Good!" Charles then handed each strong fuck a heavy suitcase.
"And you know what man? We are fuckin important! We are big shit! You say we don't have no name? Man, I prove ya wrong! My name is-"
Back at the Blue Moon Bar…
Killer was sitting rather awkwardly as his two sloshed crewmates grilled him about his fetishes.
"I know tha guy! He start on BDSM, went to some barely legal torshur to illegal torshur to watchin people kill peoples to killin people! Damn right he's a necrophilih! I shoulda caught it earlier!" Kid barely managed to say this coherently.
"Kid, that's your 15th mug of booze. You need to stop."
Killer's complaint fell on deaf ears.
"Don't feel left out Killer-san. I have weird fetishes too! Not as weird as yours," said a cherry-faced Rusla.
"Mmm, wha?" drawled Kid, wearing a lecherous smirk. His eyes soon closed and he drifted into sleep. Kid managed to conveniently fall asleep on Rusla's shoulder. Killer looked at her expectantly (not that anyone could tell), waiting for the narrator to guide Rusla into a potential sexual situation. However, the narrator decided she was far too lazy to write out an intimate scene and also decided that an intimate scene at this point in Rusla's relationship to Kid would be out of character and rather Mary Sue for both of them.
"What. I'm only letting him do this because his coat has got to be the fluffiest goddamn thing I have ever touched in my existence. I'm tempted to steal it."
"Oh," was all Killer could say.
"Where'd he get this damn thing? It's so fucking comfy! It smells like it too. No, not that homey vanilla scent or some pleasant shit. This thing smells like he never takes it off. So, eh, what the fuck? No hygiene?"
"That's because he doesn't. The last time it was washed was probably when it belonged to the last owner. He was the head of some yakuza. This was back when I could easily make fun of the captain and kick him around." Killer recalled, savoring the good old days of kicking Kid into the ship railing and making fun of his illiteracy.
"Ha. I wish I could do that. Kick this fluffy bastard around. I probably steal his coat. And clean the goddam thing. Anyway, what's happening tomorrow that makes it necessary for me to be on the ship so early in the morning."
"He took your advice. We'll be having a whore raid. Routes have been planned; people have been selected for the mission."
"Ah."
That seemed to mark the end of the conversation. Kid somehow managed to crack an eye open, open enough for him to find his way out the door. The rest of his not-remotely-sober crewmates followed him out, with Killer kicking anyone who lagged behind.
Rusla stared off into space for a bit before getting a sharp reprimand from her boss.
"Hey boss-man! It's my last night here. I'll help you guys clean this shit up, but I'd like to get my money and get paid."
"Well then, I'll need to run home real quick and get your money then. You clean this shit up in the meantime."
Rusla was left alone. The payment she'd get wouldn't pay for the alcohol she intended to carry on to the ship.
The owner returned to an extraordinarily clean bar. Too clean, in fact. The shelves were bare; the drawers were empty. Not a drop of alcohol in the room. He spotted a note on the counter.
"Boss-man:
I'm an asshole.
XOXO,
Rusla"
The owner's rage reached fever-pitch. He alerted marines, who didn't see this as any great loss. He found his regulars, who were too drunk or too crazy to care. Exposure to such insane people on a daily basis could affect one's mental processes. The owner walked into a local convenience store and bought a six pack and a container of fuel.
He doused everything in the bar, torched it. He sat across the street, laughing, watching it burn, all Halloween orange and chimney red…
Rusla managed to hide the best of the alcohol in her room, saving a tiny space for clothes. What she didn't hide was made into a kind gift for the crew, though they were too drunk to notice. After putting away her belongings, Rusla fell asleep.
Ah. An update. It sure has been a while, eh? No, I'm not Canadian. I'm not of the U.S. of Eh.
Anyway, I hope Poseida Lunar doesn't mind the reference to her fic, not that she seems like the person who'd bitch about that. Go read it, though I bet most of my readers already have. It's called Devil's Luck. It features KidxKiller, something that needs to happen more often.
The description of the barman burning down the bar was based off of Tom Wait's song, Frank's Wild Years.
I feel like my chapters aren't well connected. Once again my readers, feel free to bitch if you agree.
I'm hoping to finish the story off by the time the crew reaches Alba Peaks. However, in my timeline, that would be in a few weeks. That doesn't seem like enough time for Rusla and Kid to bond as I promised in the summary. The reason for the rush to finish this is that I want to move onto short, disconnected stories with Rusla and the crew. It would be like the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. You're familiar with the characters, there's no exact timeline, blah blah blah. But doing that would limit character development. Feel free to post your thoughts on this.