Chapter 8:

A Wise Man Remains Polite

Milltown's morning was painted with soft pastels, and the sun's light shone meekly through the guest bedroom's rectangular, fiberglass window. He slept away yesterday's events and its multitude of stressors. The pale light bothered open his eyes, and he was slightly disturbed by the soft growl of the waves outside. His dreams had been full of unsavory images of raids from the past weeks, unearthed and nostalgic memories of his childhood long abandoned, and flashing, roaring sights and sounds from the previous morning. He languidly rolled over, gave a strained yawn, and scratched his shoulder, then rested his chin on the grainy pillow to peer through the window at the calm and mostly quiet world outside. Kuro could hardly believe that he was in a position which reduced him to an aching, groggy everyman who confined himself behind a shut door, surrounded by simple belongings of meager amount that weren't even his.

He slouched and slunk forward to the bathroom's mirror, making use of the bitter mouthwash and other hygiene products that were hidden below the small sink. It was obvious that this room was more fit for a male than for the inventor, as its small cabinet was still stocked lightly with scentless shaving cream and musky, expired deodorant, along with some suspicious anti-itch ointments. He assumed that the quirky airhead he met last night, Neil, must have claimed this room as his own.

Muted clanging and grinding noises interrupted his brushing and he bristled at his own reflection. After a montage of critically inspecting his face, he made his way to the living room to investigate its whereabouts. There were questions unanswered, and still ambiguous motivations. He was quite curious about the bothersome sounds that were roaming outside of the white door facing the back of the living room: the very same white door that he originally entered from without a clue as to what opportunity may have been inside of it.

To his surprise, a bright sticky-note was centered on this garage door, with condensed, angular handwriting in blue ink:

Working.

Do not disturb.

Was that bold underline supposed to be scary? Was it really that much of a must? From his many years at sea, Kuro learned that there was nowhere that a powerful pirate couldn't step if he so pleased. What could the woman possibly do to him? She already failed miserably at shooting him, and had the body type of a harmless weasel with blunt fangs.

As he opened the garage door, he was greeted with the screaming noise of metal being grated against, and the buzzing shriek of a welding apparatus that looked entirely foreign to him. A blooming, burning purplish light pierced his eyes from afar while thin smoke swarmed the area, and it was being trapped inside by the tarp walls that were pulled down from the previously open garage's roof. He started to cough violently into his shoulder, and backed away cautiously, shielding his eyes with his palm.

"Get out! Get out of here! Are you looking to kill yourself?" the engineer muffled ferociously beneath the welder's mask that adorned her face like a cumbersome tribal guise. Two impatient eyes glared at him through its tinted lens shade. Unable to take a breath, she shooed him aggressively with her thickly gloved hand. Her composure had been lost in comparison to her previous demeanor that he was already growing used to.

His experience with mechanics was scant—there was never a necessity for them, and his past shipwright had been so diligent as to handle the work. Maybe it was for the better, since the only one he'd met was turning out to be an irritable shut-in.

The inventor hardly looked human when shrouded by a heavy leather apron and layered with protective gear, and would more resemble a member of some bizarre civilization from another planet. He closed the door on himself quickly, and grimaced while pacing towards the kitchen to figuratively destroy her refrigerator. A span of minutes later, the door opened, exposing much more light than before, and a hand covered with a rubbery glove motioned to him.

"I told you not to come in here," Nelle lifted the welder's mask to reveal her goggle-clad face, which left any shred of eye contact out of the question.

"Did you not take heed of the sticky note I so carefully placed on the door to give you a helping hand?" Her tone was tinny and short, a clear mark of a pedant and of someone with obsessive-compulsive habits. She wiped her brow with a handkerchief, newly acquired soot smearing on its fabric, while the sunlight invaded the space from all directions now that the tarp walls had been rolled up. The top of her previously buff-colored hair was still lightly peppered with ash and her eyelids hinted to how long she had been awake.

"I apologize for my earlier behavior," she calmed her inflection and set her pair of gloves onto the workbench to reveal her pale, raccoon-like hands. "The gas produced from those sort of reactions is toxic. Too much unprotected inhalation can get you horribly sick. That'd be quite unfortunate, judging how it'd push us back a few days…" Her justification was alarming, if not somewhat frightening. He began to realize why she had been shouting so unreasonably. It reminded him of the days where someone like Siam would do something ignorant, and he would find himself screaming at him and making the knobby-kneed man shrink into a corner. However, there would be no shrinking to be done with Kuro, and any exasperated yells that Nelle flung at him would be batted away and possibly countered with more force than she could ever handle.

"I'll forgive you this time," Kuro dismissed facetiously, and circled the crude vehicle beside her with interest. "I've never seen anything like this..." He was intrigued at the new sight, and was tempted to reach out and touch its cold, skeletal frame. It supported two front seats which seemed directly salvaged from an office space, and an open trunk, which was currently filled with red supply boxes.

"The sea kept you away from a lot, didn't it?" she commented dully through a mouthful of apple.

There was an awkward pause between the two of them, and he was flummoxed at how something so crass escaped from her mouth so casually. A blinking mental image of shaking her from the shoulders rabidly and possibly wringing her neck to wipe that cool apathy off of her weaselly face appeared in his mind as quickly as it would leave.

"Please. That couldn't be farther from the truth. If anything, this garage of yours keeps you away from everything."

"Alright. … Alright, you win," Nelle admitted reluctantly. "But I'm fine with that, Mr. Pierce, as long as progress is made... What you see in front of you is more of my life than you might realize."

She rested her hand on the iron tire attached to a curved bar on its front.

He squinted at it momentarily, and curved a few of his fingers to tap his knuckles against the metal.

"What is it?"

He grimaced at this thing that he failed to understand, and ran his hand along one of the bars of its frame. As a seafarer, it was something bizarre and unknown, something challenging and suspicious. As Kuro, it was something that made him feel unacceptably stupid.

"This… I call it the Scalar, under its fourth modification. Scalar… Scalar IV… Because its scale of quality is always improving. Get it? Because scalars… Well, scalar originally meant ladder and…" the mechanic's flyaway smile at her work faded into a doubtful sigh. "Forget it. What do you care—be careful with that button. I mean it."

"Can you at least divulge on why it's so important? Why you work on it so dreadfully early, and ignore my presence by shutting yourself in here to leave me to my own devices? Remember who you're working with, Ms. Nerz… " he reminded darkly and leaned himself against its light frame. "You don't want to disappoint me."

"I'm aware," the inventor grimaced. "Today's an eventful day. But I'll tell you why I tried to squeeze in time for this. There's no other like it. You're staring at history in the making," she arrogantly placed her hands on her hips and gazed proudly at the jeep-like contraption. "Check out that engine. Hm. To be honest, the energy density of this fuel for it isn't what I want. That's all I'll tell you about that. It's not exactly efficient, but… I'll find something better. I know it," she ran a dry cloth over its skeleton. "Its exoframe—trademark—is made with molded bars of carbon steel imported all the way from Water 7. You know, very far away from here… Yes, that's right, this metal is born from the same material that was used to make the Sea Train. The Sea Train!" the engineer nearly leaped off of her feet, and it was a comical sight paired with her perpetually lethargic look. He realized what he had gotten himself into when he asked, as her ranting about technicalities didn't seem to stop. "… You've heard of it, I hope? This is marvelous metal, and everything I could ask for. It cost me a fortune. I sent specific dimensions to them and they never failed to impress me with their work. It's sad that I've never had a chance to go there myself. They're very talented people, naturally."

"Obviously, if they could make something like this."

"Excuse me?" she bridled. "The craftsmen there are heavenly, but I made this. I'm the only one who knows how to drive it. Don't forget it. That's why I'd advise you to stay on my good side. Someday, it'll pull through," she lowered her eyes, and they appeared greyer under the light. The next word escaped as a doubtful whisper. It had a childishly idealistic quality that was being choked by the layers of cynicism in her voice. "Someday…"

Kuro stood with a raised eyebrow, hands in pockets, and he was truly wondering why this grungy vehicle wasn't already being sold across the seas.

"So, about the connections. About my landlord…"

The next thing he knew, he was getting acquainted with the vehicle the hard way. The hard, bumpy, rickety, whirring way that a sea captain's head would spin at. He remembered the engineer flipping a confusing array of tiny switches this way and that. The Scalar awakened in sputtering growls and rumbles. She had pointed to the adjacent seat and placed her hand on a shifting bar that was vertically placed onto a track, and it gained speed from the way she pushed the bar forward, or pulled it back as it would slow to a crawl. It had the motion of a metronome, and since her other hand was the only thing steering and controlling this bony, groaning little beast, he grew uneasy.

"I've told you about him, haven't I? … He's got a name, let me tell you. … He was one of the best bounty hunters around, back in his prime—ah, back when you weren't a problem, I hope. It was a while ago. … That's why we need to pay him a visit. … And see if he can give us some help. … "

Its grooved tires trudged through the moist grasses until it reached the town path, where it bumped and teetered and bounced across the stone and clay, and Kuro was rightfully afraid of losing his balance or somehow being thrown off from its windowless trajectory.

"Where… Am I supposed to hold onto?" he asked tentatively, and was somewhat embarrassed by the simplicity of the question.

"What are you talking about?" Nelle glanced with a raised eyebrow, entirely confused. "You don't."

Kuro glowered at her and raised his hand to grip on the overhead bar. His arm was bounced and shaken as the vehicle rolled and puttered along the cobblestone, and he reacted by tensing his legs cautiously. The Scalar's engine gave loud grumbles, which he was repeatedly startled by, while its tires rocked across the paths.

"…I wouldn't worry. Think of it as, uh, a job interview. … I've known Mr. Sals for a while. … A friend of my father's. … That's why I got the house in the first place, and… Gee, I'm getting off track, aren't I?" Nelle murmured, then continued. " … So, hopefully, he'll be compliant enough to give us a little push in notoriety. … Somehow. … Are you getting this, sir?"

Kuro heard every bit of it, but her words escaped into the air like sand being carried by the wind. He was distracting himself from the uncomfortable Scalar rattles by gazing out to his side at the small and green, rolling hills that overlapped across Milltown's outer plains, dotted with tall turbines and the occasional skinny tree. The gentle breeze brushed his nose and a small farmhouse, or two, or three, passed him by. A promising patch of crops caught his attention, with an old wheelbarrow leaning by, and it reminded him of something distant. Something that managed to be pushed away by the other sights and sounds that were racking his mind, and it fled very purposefully.

A screech. A growl. An abrupt stop. He had already caught onto the massive wooden house meters before they had come to it.

Nelle leaned back and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Mr. Sals's estate. Very nice."

"I'll say…"

Nice was an understatement. It was painted a creamy white and its long porch ascended a few feet above the ground, decorated with a few straw chairs and black tables. They had to get through a fence with a rather humble gate, and walk along a path with neatly trimmed grass, broken up by the few flowered plants that decided to colonize the place themselves. It was a cozy manor that had a quiet, rural charm, while still managing to be impressive. Kuro sighed inwardly. He would very much enjoy this sort of home. But a cat learns from its mistakes quickly, unless it asks to be disappointed again. His other plan to replace his host failed horribly. With no crew to back him up and be demonized for him, he was helpless before this beautiful estate, and could only wish to garner favor with this ex-pirate hunter.

"Punctual as always, Nerz."

A smallish man dressed in a light blue suit opened the front door and he tipped his light yellow bowler hat with a nod. Mr. Sals was a tan man verging on elderly, of slouched stature that barely reflected his formerly tall, hardened build and quick hands that, according to Nelle, were known to decimate pirates in his youth. He had young eyes and a face that aged surprisingly well, but his hair color, retaining only inklings of a peculiarly natural bluish ash, was being overtaken by the graying effects of time. Sals removed his hat and swept it under his arm to introduce himself, and when Kuro took his hand in his to shake, he could sense the sleeping power that it once held, and it made him immediately unnerved.

"You're the Pierce I've been hearin' about, I see." His voice was laced with traces of a drawling accent. "Come inside, both of you."

After they were through with the generalities, Sals pulled the woman aside for a moment, and they began murmuring to each other in a way that businesspeople would quip.

"Really, now? Let me have a look at him. … Hm… Nice, healthy shape to him, for the most part," he nodded back at him as if he were inspecting a machine. He then turned to the inventor and murmured something to her. "A little frail, though, don't you think?" The older man put his fingers around his wrist and pinched them together with an apprehensive expression.

Sals adjusted his blue ascot and stroked his brushy goatee, and looked as If he were chewing invisible tobacco in his mouth. "That's the tiniest waist I've ever seen on a man—Oh! Excuse me, Mr. Pierce. It appears I've thought out loud."

"Sir, I don't disappoint," Kuro's dark eyebrow twitched, and he composed himself to sound genteel. "I know that I may not appear very strong, but I've had far more experience than my appearance garners. I'd go to whatever lengths necessary to prove it… But I'd rather not get my hands bloody."

"Ha!" the landlord leaned on his cane. "You're a little morbid. I'm enjoying the attitude. The only reason I'm interested in any of this is 'cause I've known this lady since she was a little urchin. … So, what made you so interested in hunting bounties, Mr. Pierce?"

"It's a rather long story, but I was a victim of one of the recent Black Cat raids," he still felt a rancid taste in his mouth whenever he mentioned his own crew, and his own destroyed past, but his tongue was too accustomed to lying to give anything away. "I was traveling here from the South Blue to visit my family."

The wealthy man clasped his hands together. "Dearly sorry for you, boy. Luckily, Black's Captain has been said to have been wiped out yesterday. There's no way he could've survived. You can thank our Marines for that," he frowned seriously. "… The South Blue? 'Some interesting history to that place… I remember when Gol D. Roger…—Ahem. I'm sorry. If I don't catch myself I end up running my mouth off. You're very fortunate, you know. This civilian could've just left you for dead. They say that luck comes to best kinds of people. I'm anxious to see your prowess, Mr. Pierce," he smiled cordially with layers of distinct dimples. "As for you, Nerz, I think I've seen enough over the years. You're wily to boot, but I trust you can treat this fellow well in your pursuits. Quite unlike you to reach out a helping hand so soon… I like it. Good job. He seems polite enough to be worth my time."

Nelle nodded as if she accepted his judgment without complaint, but there was something strangely calm about her. Kuro grew suspicious. There was something sprinkled in Sals's tone that gave way to some extra thought. He didn't know what it exactly was, but he quickly realized that this man, experienced and retired, was more than he appeared. He was unsure if his tonal disguise was working, but even so, what sort of fellow would treat a man like him politely if he knew anything about the truth?

"'Tell you what. Meet me for lunch for further discussion," the retired hunter rose out of his chair and started to saunter to the other room. "I've got some business to take care of in the meantime… I'll assess whether I really want to give you hand then. Sea Lion Shack, 1 o' clock?"

"Deal."

"… This is certainly unexpected," Nelle stared at her watch with concern. "He's usually very punctual. … Huh? Where'd you—"

Kuro was drawn to the luxurious store adjacent to the Shack, filled with pressed suits, shined shoes, and any other necessity that a wealthy man could want. Rows of colored and monochrome dress shirts were displayed brilliantly through their crystal-clear display cases and stretched towards a wall of neatly hung jackets and vests.

"HEY! You're getting ahead of yourself!" the inventor spat in disbelief as he ignored her to resume his window shopping. Headless mannequins proudly displayed perfectly tailored wares of all patterns and shades: sharp, immaculate, and preciously made. He squinted to look at the prices, which amounted to tens of thousands of Beri, or even hundreds of thousands. The money in his pocket? One hundred: the sort of money that could buy him a container of juice at best.

Kuro had a glaring weakness for material treasures of any kind, and he always tried desperately to fill his desires with gold and affluence. To wear a freshly pressed and tailored suit was one of the best feelings in the world on a cool, windy day, where his headaches about his crew were second priority. A white light illuminated a deliciously dark match of jacket and slacks. A black tie was rolled on a pedestal to its side. It was love at first sight: it was beautiful—

"'Out of my way!", thundered a young voice. Suddenly, Kuro caught wind of a darkly dressed boy barreling through the crowd behind him. His fierce, hurried gestures produced a few startled shouts after shoving for civilians to clear the way by waving a small, gleaming pocket knife that sprung out of its sheath. Kuro failed to move much aside from a casual turn.

The ruffian boy came to a halt, glaring at him, and scowled through thin lips:

"Move, dandy."