All evening Blackmore's been given the time to mull over Chrysan's words. Why should she leave the crew and for what reasons? Sure there may be some here who are not entirely of their own accord, poverty and coin can drive mons to join the worst of gangs and the most stringent of exploration groups, so why make their leave now? Did he always intend to stay long enough to fetch a ride to this continent? What is there in the paper's contents which could dr5ive him to such a stark decision?
Finishing her drink, she trails The Roserade's shadow out of the establishment, through the dimly lit streets, all the way back to the ship whereupon his shadow disappears into the hull proper. Letting out a sigh, Blackmore sits herself down near the ship's plank atop of a barrel, kicking her feet and waiting for the sly Roserade to poke his head up from the crew quarters.
Only, he does not, something gets her attention first.
A patter of feet lug themselves up the plank. It's Oz, the runt from earlier! What is he doing coming aboard - was he following them? The Weavile watches the Floragato shuffle aboard, Oz pretending not to see the Weavile he flagrantly passes by. Blackmore clears her throat.
"Hey greenie, what are you doing up so late?"
Oz twitches in place before trying to worm his way back to the bottom decks. Blackmore is having none of it.
"Greenie!" Blackmore shouts. "I'm talking to you! Don't pretend like you didn't hear me!"
Maybe someone from below is taken notice, or heavens forbid the captain, as her yelling is enough to freeze Oc in plac3e.. Standing over the stair leading to the bottom decks, the finely dressed grass type veers his head back to Blackmore. His forced, blank stare fails to hide the fury burning behind his eyes.
"Yeah?" Oz spits out.
"Don't 'yeah' me, greenie! The heck were you doing back there? I return from lunch and you return just around the same time" She kicks her legs onto the ship and rises onto her feet. Blackmore approaches the grass-type. " I know what you're like, scaredy-cat, you'd never be out this late!"
"I…"
There is a half-second pause, just a split second faster than she would like, confirming the hunch she has had. Oz was following her after all! Why else would Chrysan up and leave her hands full of the seeds of mutiny? He must have seen greenie spying on them!
"Were you following me, Oz?" She cocks her head to the side and glares at the grass type. "Yaint never bothered visiting the locals lest they've got expensive goodies, can you name any fancy store here?"
Oz stops before swallowing down a deep, shuddering breath..
"I uh - I heard there were jewelers and orb-dealers in these parts, I just went for a look." He attempts to swerve the conversation around with a petty glare. "What's gotten you in a twist, huh? Am I not allowed to go shopping?"
Blackmore smirks.
"Go shopping all you want, why I care if you wanna look fancy?" She scratches her chin, pretending to struggle with her thoughts. "Scratch that, are we not strapped for cash? Y'know - after the job you mucked up!"
"I- I don't- I was!"
The grass-type's face becomes beet-red as his fur bristles, and his cheeks puff up. He looks as though he is about to scream. And he draws a long winded breath and shouts-
"Oi! You two!"
The familiar, commanding voice of Captain shuts their bickering down instantly. They look over to his quarters to see the Malamar standing outside his quarter's door, his arm tendrils folded over each other and his supposed 'hair' flowing angrily. The two he calls to freeze in place.
"And three!" Captain raises his voice even further, they both shiver. "Chrysan you're coming up to my office or you're walking the plank, y'ear?"
Chrysan? What could he have possibly done to incur the wrath of the captain? Does captain know of his plans?
"Aye! I hear ye!" The Roserade's voice calls from the deck below.
Captain spins around. With a flourish of his head-tendrils, he beckons everyone to his cabin.
Blackmore nods, Oz reluctantly follows. The door remains open behind them as they enter the candle-lit office, the precious accoutrements, accessories and baubles shining in the shelves all around them while the big old chest of all their salaries lays right next to the Malamar's oak desk, open by a creak.
The nagging thought at the back of Blackmore's mind screams at her to lean forwards, steal a peak at her future pay but before she can, Chrysan enters through the door and slams it shut behind them with a thorned whip. He approaches the desk presenting himself with his flowered hands behind his back. Blackmore barely spots him stuffing the paper she gave him into his cuffs as he speaks on their behalf.
"What's the deal cap?" Chrysan speaks. "Be it anything about these two's muck ups in their job earlier, I'll have no part in it."
The captain shakes the cabin with his laugh.
"Oh no! Why, I am most aware of whom my crewmates associate with, and you three are an unspoken team amongst dozens.." The captain slithers across the cabin, lifting up a paper from his desk and tossing it to Chrysan who catches it. "I have seen you three bicker and work together more than any other of my crew, and were it not for your tenacity in spite of your collective whining, I'd have chosen any other three."
"Go on ahead, read what I've given you, consider it a blessing." Captain says, gesturing at the thing in Chrysan's hands.
And before long, after reading the paper in dead silence, Chrysan folds the paper up, clears his throat and promptly tosses it back to the captain in utter disbelief.
"What on earth are you doing signing us up to a circus, a show? You think we're just talent you can throw away at a moment's notice?"
The captain howls.
"You are part of my crew, I can do with you within reason, and it's not as though I'm sending each and everyone to you to your knowing demise." The Captain ends his howling laughter with a sharp cough. "It's a competition, I only learned of it since we got here, and since you three are the most knowledgeable and connective of my lot I have given you this job. You are to perform your best, and should you not win, you'll likely know who did."
Things were beginning to piece together in Blackmore's mind. She can see no particular reason other than that this land is its oldest, the most ripe for the picking of artifacts, for sailing all this way to Capim Town. The Grass Continent is home to mysteries, artifacts and beings the likes of legends. By no means are they three the first thieves to sail to this land in fortune, she can name at least one or two others, but they are certainly the most organized in recent time - especially after some calamity wiped this entire continent free of meddlers like her.
And with a land filled to the brim with opportunities, one presented itself: the strange cloth emblem she gave to Chrysan. She can see the hands behind The Roserade's back hiding the parchment with his long green fingers.'
"We're not exactly a team, captain." Roserade speaks. "If you want us to get the prize which first place is to get, we can try-"
"A team you are yet!" Captain speaks. "I'd say you'd do best to start working like one."
The Captain slithers from his desk to the chest in the back. He plucks three white nondescript scarves from his treasury, then tosses them their way. Oz catches the scarves, and stares at them in bewilderment.
"Captain?" The Floragato speaks up. "We're thieves, pirates, we're not...-"
"Blackmore was, Chrysan was, just because you weren't before joining my beloved crew doesn't mean you can't put on the face of a bright-eyed explorer!" The Captain tells him. "And besides…"
"And not to mention you two in particular owe me a pretty fine." Two tendrils lash out in Blackmore and Oz's directions, and the captain's eyes hone into them. "Disposing of that poor soul cost me plenty. Consider the little event I've signed you up for to be a means of paying me back, and should thy succeed, I won't have to dock it from all of your pay."
Blackmore groans, combing her claws through her head of quills as she speaks.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." She grumbles. "So what's this whole thing?"
"A competition, a multi-continental league who turned this way in order to organize a matter whose grand prize I covet - and to which you shouldn't dawdle over.." Captain winks at the Roserade "He'd know plenty, that's why I made him your leader."
Oh, he is their new boss now. The towe less-experienced mons look to the Roserade who sighs and palms his head.
"I'll go out on a stretch and guess we're the only ones you've chosen for this 'shore leave'?" Chrysan says. "I'll agree to this rigmarole but you'd better choose someone else next time you wanna throw them out into your silly plans, okay?"
"Blah, you have so little faith in my flower-boy!" Captain chuckles. "I wouldn't give you this job if I didn't think you could put on a show for this competition, and I know when to ease up on me crew, lest they shrivel up." He waves an arm tendril to the others. "As for ye two, you answer to Chrysan for the time being. Treat him with the same respect as I, you hear?"
Blackmore raises a claw above her head and does a salute, so does Oz, as if they had any choice in this matter to begin with. The captain nods in satisfaction, then dismisses them all with a wave. Everyone follows Chrysan out the door as he slams it shut behind him, and lets out one heck of a tired sigh.
"You know if I had a ch-"
Oz cuts off Roserade before he can even finish.
"You wouldn't choose me, I get it!"
Silence sweeps across the deck; they see a flustered Floragato sneering at them as they return his hate with bewilderment. Since when does a greenhorn like him get to make accusations like this? It makes her feather crest bristle with anger.. Her claws tremble, ready to slap the grass-cat across his face when Chrysan-
"If I had a choice we wouldn't be doing this." The Roserade clears the air. Blackmore eases, Oz does not. "You're new, that's fine, whatever. You obviously didn't want to be chosen for this and if I could choose, I'd have left you out of it. Its how we run things here, you have to earn your place, understand?"
This breaks through Oz's defenses as he lets out a defeated breath, practically shrinking in size as he palms his head in a hand.
"Sorry - I just -"
"Don't apologize, you can make it up by working with me." Chrysan takes the reins with a soft smirk. "We've been given a job by our captain, and whether or not you're new doesn't particularly matter - this is a darn fine moment for us to prove to Cap he can rely on us. Heck we might even see a raise, though don't count on that lest we pull a miracle and come first place."
And first place receives a supposed mystery treasure, something the captain has his eyes on forever. Chrysan too, if her suspicions are right.
"You know what the prize is?" Blackmore asks.
"Treasure, important things, why should I really know?" Chrysan sweeps her suspicions under a sea of laughter. "There's some big fabled treasures in the Grass Continent - actual treasures idiots like us could freely get our hands on if we try hard enough. If there's bound to be anything there, then…"
"Seven Treasures."
The Floragato's words catches everyone off guard.
"What?" Blackmore replies. "I know of treasures, but I don't think there's s-"
"There's Seven Treasures, they do things to certain types of pokemon. I never bothered with them because I didn't think I was arrogant enough to get my hands on one of them." Oz folds his arms. "When we started sailing this way I did a little digging to refresh my memory."
"So you're not only a greenhorn, you suddenly know tons about Legendary Artifacts too, eh?" The eyes behind Chrysan's mask tilt a brow at Oz. "How'd you know about them in the first place?"
"I read books, I know a thing or two." Oz glares back. "Why do you care?"
"Because I'm a scholar too."
And before any can ponder Chrysan's words, he approaches Oz and swipes two of the nondescript scarves he has been holding to. He hands Blackmore one, while tying the other around his neck, tucking it under the old green thing he wears. Blackmore catches hers and feels a letter pinned to it. She begins to read it, so does everyone else.
Come hither the greatest battlers, the most deft of pokemon, and performers of the lands! The Fighter's League holds a festival of our world's best at the heart of exploration in the Grass Continent on the eaves of Serenity River where its two settlements meet.
There are three categories, Battles, Feats, and Charisma. Teams of three from across the continents will elect a battler, a contestor and a performer. Each will be assigned into a double elimination bracket. They will be assigned a point value on how far they make it, and the team with the greatest amount of points by end of our parade shall achieve victory!
The Fighter's League? Since when did they branch out into entertainment? They are a league of fighters, entertainers for Post Town but since when did they begin to branch out? Why come to the Grass Continent? Aren't there other places like the guild federation's home base to hold this at?
She keeps reading.
Category One: Battles
Two pokemon from opposing teams elected to be their designated battler are chosen to partake in a duel to the very brink. Whomever faints first or submits loses. Note that while we acknowledge people to be experts of lethal techniques, outright taking the life of the competitor is strictly forbidden, and punishable by both disqualification and apprehension by continental authorities. Outside items which cannot be worn as equipment are disallowed.
Those who reach the 30 bracket and lose are sent to the loser's bracket, wherein they are given a second chance to climb to the heights and re-challenge the winner. The last standing of both brackets will compete against each other, with the last from the Winner's bracket being given a Reviver Seed so as to reward their efforts.
No way, there is no way she can handle battling. Blackmore scans looks on her partner's faces, both of them seeming as distressed as she is by this revelation. She may be a thief, good enough to handle caravan guards, but battling mons who have spent their entire lives learning to fight? Well, there's a pretty darn good reason why she surrounds herself with a crew! Anyone of those Battle League-rs could absolutely smoke her.
No, forget about it. Blackmore stuffs her nose back into the sprawling text.
Category Two: Feats
Be it strength, dexterity, mental or all manner of one's abilities - this is for those who practice for everything outside of battle. This is a contest of pure feats; of skills. Those assigned to this category by their team shall decide what they wish to demonstrate to the audience with their abilities. A coin flip chooses who goes first.
When both have performed their respective Feats, three judges anointed by yours truly shall decide their fates. The one most preferred by our judges shall go onwards, while the loser will drop to the loser's bracket.
The choice of demonstration is decided at a minimum of an hour before each showing, failure to come up with a show will result in immediate disqualification.
Yours truly? The director of the League, what was he? He always keeps his hands out of things. This feels too vague for her liking - maybe she'd carve ice statues with her claws? Would this even count? She is a thief, she is not some kind of famous artisan lest picking locks with her own bare claws is supposed to be a talent. Is it? Would they even let her do that?
She glances up from her sheet at the other two. Oz looks done reading and holds his head in his paws, the others are not. Blackmore continues.
Category Three: Charisma
Singing, dancing, music playing, poetry, storytelling! This accounts for pokemon who dedicate themselves entirely to the arts! They neither raise their hand or battle or for fortune, they express themselves in ways people can only dream of! This is a contest of one's sheer presence in the face of hundreds watching, their ability to woo, to entertain an entire audience and to play the heartstrings of our judges!
Those chosen by their teams must decide one of three options: a back to back performance of the same talent, a simultaneous showing of the same skill - or two different talents altogether. In the latter and former, a coin flip will decide who goes first. And unlike the other two contests, this is single elimination!
The fate of the participants weigh on the shoulders of my beloved three judges as well as the crowd! Those who fail to choose one of three options between them and their opponent team shall both be disqualified. Expect Foul Play in this regard to reflect painfully on your team's final score.
The final scores are decided by the culmination of your placement within each competition. Pick your best and perform your hearts out!
Is she gonna dance, sing? Winter forbids her ever to land a note with her shrill voice and her claws would tear apart any instrument if she were to even try playing, and everything else - the thought of it makes her heart sink.
"As your superior, I'm taking it upon myself to grab Category Two." Chrysan's words cut through the air, drawing her attention as he folds his paper into the white scarf around his nape. "We've been told to go. You two can figure out the rest, and I'll even let you decide our fake team name, how does that sound?"
As if getting to choose their name was gonna make things better! She's awful at names, and by the look Oz shoots at her, he probably is too - nevermind the-
"Can I take the battle?" Oz says with no hint of trepidation in his voice.
No, no he can't. He barely managed to deal with those electrike back there! If they are going to be trying their best to win this and the captain's favor! Blackmore's cheeks puff up.
"Sure! Not like we have to win, and I'd love to see what you can do." Roserade says with a smirk in his voice. "I mean well, honestly, don't mistake my words."
And Oz actually has a genuine smile on his feline face.
"Yeah, I'll make it up to you!"
With those words, all eyes fall upon Blackmore. The Weavile nearly tears the paper apart as she folds it up, wraps her head in the scarf, then stammers out her response.
"Guess I'll handle category three. Don't expect the best."
Without even extending his weird vine hands across the deck to her shoulder, she can still feel Chrysan's commanding presence calming her nerves. He nods at her, saying a contented "Alright". And before he can turn around a spark ignites in the Weavile's heart.
She had come here to make a name for herself, did she? Sign herself up to be a pirate to be the best thief she's known?
"Hey, we still needed a team name, right?" Blackmore spurts out.
The two grass-types glance at the Weavile.
"What about…er…Vanilla?" She says "It is not original but, the boss did not give us much a choice in names with these things."
Sure it is no name to bark at, but being the one to take the ropes helps strangle out the trepidation beating in her chest. Her companions seem none the differ, they seem to know to let her have this.
"Sure, Team Vanilla it is." Chrysan holds out a hand. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah, it is not thematic, but it's inoffensive." Oz shrugs. Of course he probably has a name in his mind, but he too plays along. "Team Vanilla we are."
Blackmore holds her own claw. As the others fold over hers, she keeps them down with her second hand, looking at these two in her eyes.
"Whether or not we come back to this ship, let's go make a name for ourselves, you hear?"
And without a word or fuss, the others nod, pulling their hands away. Chrysan gestures at them both and leads the way, down the plank, into the Grass Continent. Blackmore takes a deep breath.
If there is ever to be one opportunity to make a name for herself, it was not through pirating, it is right now.