"If Chopper were here, he'd be having a field day with how we're using these bubbles," Nami remarked through slightly gritted teeth.
"We're having enough of a fiweld day wifhout that," Carue returned in a similar tone. "Awso, youw thwee o'quawck."
A quick bolt of lightning lashed out, frying another sap attempting to blow the whistle on the Straw Hats' coup, with perhaps a bit more force than was usual for Nami. Understandably, though, when she recognized the mark on the sap's arm. Some choice comments from Soundbite about the sap's establishment were just gas on the fire.
"Thanks. You've definitely got that right," Nami huffed, swirling her clouds around as she built up a fresh charge. "Honestly, why couldn't these bastards have set up somewhere sane and typical and flat, like a desert, or a plain, instead of this damn labyrinth—Billy, barrel-roll!" The navigator clenched tightly onto her mount as he spun in midair, slashing out the bubble from under another runner, and discharged a blast of voltage into the runner on his way down. "That comes complete with three-dimensional vehicles?! Also, one's going high."
"On it," Carue said, zipping across a half-dozen bubbles to the trunk of the nearest mangrove. In an impressive display of his training, he charged up the trunk and pushed off to body-slam the bubble biker off his ride. "And shtay down! And tah be faiyah—"
"Fair!?" Nami and Billy squawked in indignant unison, the prior throwing in a concussive blast of wind that cheerfully introduced her target's skull to the nearest building.
"It's not wike 'dese guysh awe vewy conshidewate to begin with, sheesh, wet me finish my sentence," Carue scoffed as he hopped back onto the bubbles.
A few seconds of travel later, another target came into sight. Before anyone could attack, though, a flying fish zoomed in and bodychecked him, sending him tumbling out of view. The Straw Hats halted, staring, giving the rider time to direct his mount into a controlled, slow glide towards them.
"Status update, sirs and ma'am," the rider said, saluting. "Boss Duval and Motobaro have joined your guard force at Grove 77; the rest of us are spread out and awaiting your orders."
"Glad to have you guys on our side this time!" Nami replied with a quick salute of her own. "Tell most of your guys to keep finding and bushwhacking these schmucks as long as you can and keep them inside Soundbite's dead zone so they can't raise the alarm. We want the element of surprise to last us as long as possible!"
"Aye-aye, ma'am!" the fish rider nodded, before his gaze snapped down to the roots of the mangroves. "Er, for the record, does that include those three guys trying to sneak by down—ah, no, they're running."
"MINE!" Carue quacked, shooting down at the hapless slavers.
"While Carue bounces those stooges off the pavement," Nami said, the ongoing carnage a flicker in her peripheral vision. "Do you have any updates on how the rest of the teams are doing? The explosions are pretty self-explanatory, and I'd normally ask Soundbite for details, but I'd rather not distract him any more than absolutely necessary."
"Of course. Let me see…" The Fish Rider withdrew a map from his jacket and gave it a quick scan. "So far, things aren't going badly. Your captain, as well as the Mad Monk and Roar of the Seas, are going strong; they'll be done with the 20s Groves pretty soon. But, eh…" The Rider paused, scratching the back of his neck. "The 10s are proving to be a… bit more of a challenge."
-o-
"LOOK OUT!"
It was this panicked cry that allowed a knot of slaver-employed mercenaries to narrowly avoid getting slammed into the wall by the ballistic body of one of their comrades.
Never mind that that would have been a far kinder fate than what the two pirates they were fighting were planning. A fate that one of them experienced almost immediately by way of Bonney ramming her heel into his chin. "Alright, anyone else want some, or are you going to do the smart thing and give yourselves up for a slightly less severe beatdown?!" she demanded, the unconscious sap she'd kicked bouncing off the ceiling and landing behind her in a crumpled heap.
The mercenaries nervously shifted around before one of them, fumbling behind his back, opened the door that he'd been backed up against. Immediately, he vanished into the dark room beyond, his comrades scrambling in after him. None of the pirates moved to stop them, not even when the last mook slammed the door behind him and the sound of haphazard fortification filtered through.
Bonney sighed in mock-disappointment. "The hard way it is, then. Now… Bepo, right? If you wouldn't mind…?"
"Aye-aye, ma'am!" the polar bear barked, marching up to the door. One firm kick from a mink that had run with Trafalgar Law for eleven years, and neither the door nor the hasty fortifications behind it stood a chance. Bepo took a few steps into the darkness past the door, only to leap back a few seconds later, ducking and covering on the ground to avoid the salvo of bullets that smacked into the far wall. Bepo pulled the broken door shut again and looked at the Supernovas with him, expression apologetic.
"I'd like to report that I think we just chased them into their armoury, ma'am," he said.
"…right. Roronoa, you go in first," Bonney ordered.
Zoro heaved a put-upon sigh and drew one of his blades. Slicing the door open, he strolled in, casually deflecting the bullets fired at him. "And here I thought I could have some fun. Make yourselves useful and free the slaves, would you?"
The mink and Captain scowled at the swordsman's back, and Bonney glanced at Bepo. "Next place we hit, do me a favour and accidentally break his leg."
"Aye-aye! Though, uh… I don't really think that'll slow him down."
"No, but it'll make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to see him bleeding."
"You know I can still hear you idiots, right?"
"You were supposed to!"
On the other side of the room, Ever rolled her eyes as she brought her heel down on a cage's lock. "I really hope that the other groups are being a lot more efficient than us right now…"
-o-
Two stoic Supernovas, one with a bored smirk and the other with an impassive scowl, stood before a particularly stubborn slaver.
"Let's make this nice and simple, mister scumbag slaver," Trafalgar Law stated patiently, drumming his fingers on the barrel he was using as a makeshift table.
"Listen here, you worthless shit, my name is—!"
"Irrelevant, because of just how dead you're about to be," X. Drake cut him off.
"See, here's the thing," Law explained. "As you'll recall, we have a third bigshot with us today. And even though he doesn't look like it, he's Black Leg Sanji, of the Straw Hats. This is important because right now he's outside comforting the mother we just freed from your gainful employment. And he's comforting her because she just begged us to retrieve her child, her seven-year-old son, whom you sold earlier today. Which means that you have all of ten minutes to cooperate with us and give us what we want before Sanji comes in here and kicks you to death. So, for the sake of keeping this brief and moving things along… tell us who your buyer was, would you kindly?"
Law's expression stayed stoically smug for a moment before shifting to annoyance, an expression he directed skyward. "No, I will not get a mustache and a golf club, why would I even want to?… no, I don't care how appropriate or hilarious it would be to hit him with the golf club… what do you mean I would be the one getting hit?!" Scowling, he stood up from the barrel with an annoyed grunt. "Finish up here, would you, Drake? I need to see a snail about an impending saltshaker enema… yes, you heard me, a saltshaker!"
Drake rolled his eyes as Law wandered off before taking his place. "Look, here's the deal: Your books state that you sold the child for 2.5 million. Borderline extortion, even if you consider longevity, meaning that whoever you sold to must have been wealthy. Now, normally, we'd have already beaten your head in for this, except you don't record your customers' names. But someone like you, I don't doubt you have it somewhere in your head. Now." Drake leaned his head forward just so that his now-slit pupils were appropriately shadowed. "Talk."
"C-C-C-Come on, it was just a slave!" the trader whined desperately, somehow managing to combine that and incredulous annoyance in the same breath.
In response, Drake's expression and demeanour returned to calmly impassive. His hand grabbed the slaver's head—
THUNK! "GAAAH!"
—bounced the slaver's face off the top of the barrel between them, cracking its lid clean through.
"That was wood," Drake drawled impatiently, ignoring the slaver's howls as he cradled his shattered nose. "The next one will be metal. Let's try again, before I have to get insistent."
-o-
A simple question: what do you do if your business is being attacked by pirates, and the entirety of the island you're operating on is their target? A simple answer: get off the island. An answer every criminal not under attack grasped and executed. Or, at least, attempted to execute.
See, in their panic, they failed to consider that the simplicity of the solution meant that any competent attackers would have long since thought of it first, and thus set up countermeasures.
"The same story on a different day… but why am I doing this?" Bege wondered aloud. Beneath his feet, the Nostra Castello's cannons aligned with the ships trying to flee from Sabaody's main port. Thus immobilized, his men and a grab-bag assortment of pirates from other crews could and were boarding the ships to question the crews and search for any 'illicit' cargo.
"I mean, really now," Bege continued to monologue. "I have plenty of treasure, a big enough reputation, and a solid crew behind me already. So why am I playing the big damn hero here!?"
"Because you were the one who turned to piracy because 'enough' was never enough, perhaps?" Hawkins mused from the prow of his ship, the Grudgedorf, which was moored next to Bege's fortress-ship. His eyes never left the cards spread on the velvet-covered table before him. "For my part, it appears that Cross's little 'surprise' approaches pricelessness in its value," he added.
Bege huffed out a mouthful of smoke and shook his head.
"Or is it simply because of the debt you acknowledged when they attacked Enies Lobby?"
Again, Bege did not answer the other Supernova, under the pretense of searching for one particular ship name. And then a snail rang inside his headquarters—that is, his quarters inside his head—and suddenly the pretense was no longer a pretense.
He tapped his finger to his ear, Hawkins curiously glancing up. "What?"
"Got a ship for you to look out for," came Drake's dry voice, his expression tense. "Keep an eye out for a royal cruise liner called the Weynsnipe. They spent a lot for just one kid, so they're likely to have plenty more cash on board."
"Along with the kid, yes, yes, I got the implications. I'm not Black Bart, you know…" Bege groused, side-eyeing his companion. "Priority target, the Weynsnipe, a luxury ship. One kid in particular."
Hawkins exhaled in disgust, then got to his feet. "Shall we, then? I believe that one is just ahead, the luxury craft 90 degrees off the port side. It would certainly explain why they've been so dead set on trying to leave before everyone else."
Bege snapped his attention around, noting the garish ship, and promptly scowled as it suddenly dropped full sail and tried to make a break for open waters.
"As I was saying…" the diviner sighed.
"Yeah, that's our target, alright. HEY!" A round of blanks aided his shout in getting the attention of his subordinates. And also the attention of the contingent of dugongs that was helping support said subordinates and maintain the aquatic advantage.
As for the Weynsnipe, the people on board were sent into a panic, alright. A frenzy that only accelerated the ship's progress away from the island. Hawkins sighed and snapped the cards in his hands back into their deck.
"If they're this inclined to resist, better to cripple their vessel. Do you have any harpoon weapons in your arsenal?" the Magician inquired.
"Shouldn't you already be able to tell that for yourself?" Bege demanded.
"I realize that I am a measure of what you plebeians would call 'bullshit,' but I am not that level of bullshit," Hawkins huffed, rolling his eyes. He set down his cards and rose to his feet. "Rather, I'm the kind of 'bullshit' who has to tell you to duck so that I don't run the risk of accidentally incinerating you."
"What're you—GAH!"
Bege was given ample warning, as Hawkins had only begun to draw the blade. His panic and haste in hitting the deck were because he, like anyone else on Skelter Bite last week who was not a swordsman, had no desire to be in the crosshairs of a cursed sword that was as dangerous as any Supernova and ten times more bloodthirsty than Kid.
A prudent move, as it turned out. Hawkins' almost dismissive slash with the cursed blade let loose an arc of green fire that not only ripped the Weynsnipe's sail in two but also set what remained of the sail and a good chunk of the ship's mast on fire.
Hawkins resecured the sword in its sheath, which appeared to be one gigantic metal seal tag, then retook his seat as their ships approached the Weynsnipe. "The Dugongs will likely be displeased with this amount of damage," he remarked without a hint of remorse. Then he paused and slowly turned his head to focus on the ship. "Do you hear those cries?"
Bege looked at the wrecked ship, tilting his head and outright cupping his ear… then he heard it, and his eyes narrowed as he identified what Hawkins meant. They fell into silence until they boarded the ship.
"Alright, who owns this rotten tub?" Bege 'asked' the cowering crew and passengers who'd been cornered on deck—though for all that his tone was calm and even, 'demanded' seemed more accurate for the sheer sense of foreboding his short stature exuded.
Only one person seemed unaffected, and it was that person who stepped forward, everything about him screaming 'pompous.'
"Y-You uncouth, ill-bred ruffians are being an inconvenience! Do you have any idea who I am?! Bah, doesn't matter: relinquish the funds to repair my ship and maybe I will ask the Marines to be lenient with—AAAGH!"
The demonic scarecrow that had just torn at his arm stepped back, leaving behind superficial but bleeding cuts. As Hawkins resumed his normal form, he gathered the blood from his fingertips and let Bege take over, scowling at the noble. A scowl only amplified by the cries he could still hear below deck.
"You're going to tell us where the kids are," Bege rumbled—literally rumbled with a voice too big for his small body—as he marched forwards. "And if you do it fast enough, then maybe you'll be able to walk before the end of the century."
"And if you hesitate to comply, you will wish you hadn't," Hawkins picked up, shaking the newly woven straw doll he was holding. "We have our reasons to sack this archipelago without killing anyone, but you would be surprised what you can live through."
So saying, Hawkins stuck a pin through the doll's right arm, and the noble screamed as his corresponding limb tore open and started dripping blood. He grabbed his arm in terror, staring at the pirates with wide eyes.
"I think this is the part where you beg and concede," one of the passengers said helpfully, with no small amount of guiltless glee. A glee he backed up by directing a suddenly far more amiable expression to the pirates. "For the record, those of us who work for him only work for him, nothing else. So, any chance we could just abandon ship and leave him to your 'mercies'…?"
Bege took a few seconds to gauge their faces before answering.
"Go, then. Take half of what you can carry," he said. He gave Hawkins a look that the other pirate returned; it was apparent to both that whoever went for their weapons was insincere. With that, the Castle-man took the cigar from his mouth, brandishing the burning tip of it at the noble.
"Want some more incentive?"
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!" he screamed, ripping off a jewelled necklace that, upon further examination, was a keyring. The pirate replaced his cigar and took up the ring.
"And?"
"They're below deck, center door, then center door again!"
The former don strode off without another word, casually breaking the door off its hinges as he descended into the depths of the ship. Passing through the second door, his face turned to disgust; the door was fortified, as were the walls, while the room itself was a spacious sitting room. There were two clear holes in the fortifications: one crack from the damage above that had crippled the soundproofing, and the other sealed by steel bars. Beyond which was a group of kids.
Every last one had tearstains on their eyes, and it took only a moment to identify the one who had just been added: he was the most terrified of them all, and was chained to the outside of the cage.
Suppressing a sigh, Bege approached the boy and, gently but firmly, raised his head so that his eyes locked with Bege's own.
"Come with me. I'll take you back to your mother," he said softly. The boy trembled, but after a few seconds, his hand hesitantly reached out to take Bege's own. He looked at the other kids, their expressions wary but hopeful. Shock overtook the other emotions when Bege unlocked the boy's chains, then dropped the cage's keys within easy reach.
"As for you, you're all free to go. Go to Grove 77 if you don't know your way home from here." Bege jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the suit-wearing pirates that had entered the room behind him. "And if you need help getting there, just ask some of my guys, and they'll do you a solid."
Two of the kids didn't hesitate, bolting out of the room as fast as their legs could carry them, and the rest didn't take long to follow. A few remained until the others had gone, and Bege watched them until the cell was empty. He looked over it carefully, seeing nothing of note, before sending a mental order that had a cannonball flying behind him as he walked out, obliterating the cell.
Re-emerging, he found the noble sobbing miserably as he watched the children escape, to the disgust of every pirate present. Bege also noticed Hawkins raising a brow at him, almost certainly because of the boy who was still holding the ex-don's hand.
"I guess I've just got a soft spot for kids," Bege shrugged with casual—and not exaggerated—indifference. "Somewhere in getting called 'father' all these years, I've thought about being a real one."
Hawkins watched him lead the boy away, his expression unchanging.
Indeed, totally unchanging. Anyone who implied that the Magician had a look of respect and/or approval at that was nothing more than a soon-to-be-suffering liar.
SLAM!
"AGH, SONNUVA—! HEY, WE GOT A RUNNER!"
Speaking of those destined to suffer…
Hawkins huffed a tired sigh as he flicked a nail at a blind corner, waiting patiently for it to strike the ground—"AAAAGH!"—and secure the runner's foot to the floorboard while he calmly sauntered around the corner.
A second later, one of the Law Pirates—' Penguin', his hat proclaimed—ran up and grabbed ahold of the would-be escapee, using one hand to shove them against the wall while the other wiped at his bloody nose. "Ugh, piece of—thanks for that, magic man! Caught this charmer!" He emphasized the words by stomping on the nail, drawing a whimper of pain from his captive. "Trying to sneak out through a porthole with a freakin' slave! Ballsy, gotta give him that."
"Mmm," Hawkins noted. "I imagine our compatriots will find ripping said balls off quite… enjoyable."
"Y-You stupid pirates!" the still-struggling captive howled in both outrage and panic. "Don't you get it!? We've gotten away with this for this long because the law is on our side! Once they get to their ships, the port authority'll shut you down, and if you try fighting back, Marineford is right next door!"
Both pirates fell silent while they processed that statement before Penguin donned a bloodthirsty grin. "Oh, can we tell him? Please tell me we can tell him! I really love how the hope dies in their eyes when we tell them this bit!"
That drew a slight smirk from Hawkins. "Quite." He turned a gimlet eye on the prisoner, causing him to stiffen up. "I believe that you will find," the Supernova drawled emotionlessly. "That the local government is slightly preoccupied."
-o-
"We've finished securing all the corrupt elements and have them detained and awaiting arraignment, ma'am. All that's left is the man up top. Would you like us to finish this?"
"That won't be necessary, captain," Mrs. Libia answered, not breaking her stride through the halls of the Sabaody Regional Government's headquarters. "I'll be dealing with that man myself. For now, have your men maintain the perimeter and keep this quiet for as long as possible. I don't want word one of this to get out until it's too late for anyone to do anything."
"As you say, ma'am. And on a personal note… give him hell."
Libia's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Seven years' worth, captain. And you can believe I'm going to make him pay for each and every day of it."
It was with those words that Libia reached and shoved open the doors to the building's executive wing, striding into the heart of the local government with a squad of local officers—police officers, mind, not Marines—hot on her heels. The group's march through the offices went wholly unimpeded, thanks to the wing having been swept a few hours earlier, and as such were almost dead silent due to the sheer number of vacancies that had suddenly opened up that day.
'Almost' being the keyword here. There was one last source of noise in the office complex: a muffled storm of bellowing, originating from the highest office of all. And it was in the direction of this very bellowing that the party was marching to.
The bellowing was almost loud enough to bother Libia and the officers when they reached the foyer before the head office. Only the governor's secretary remained outside, a professional, calm air around her contrasted mightily by the cold sweat on her neck and trembling frame. Hard to say if it was her boss's anger or Libia's entourage that was more to blame.
"Does he have a weapon?" Libia asked immediately.
The secretary swallowed and shook her head. "He's…" She looked up at the officers. "…never needed one before."
Libia nodded and looked over her shoulder. "Give me a minute, please," she said, receiving a nod from the head officer before stopping her ears, calmly opening the door—
"—HELL DO YOU MEAN 'INDISPOSED!?' WHAT IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THIS!? GET ME THE CAPTAIN NOW, THESE PIRATE SCUM NEED TO BE HANDLED!"
"Maybe so, sir, but that doesn't change the fact that Captain Higuchi isn't available —"
"THE HELL HE ISN'T!" Prefectus roared, slamming his fist right next to the snail's head. "I PAY THAT MAN'S SALARY, HE'S AVAILABLE WHEN I SAY HE'S AVAILABLE!" The governor then snapped his gaze to the side with a sharp tsk. "But if he wants to spit on my years of generosity, then on his head be it, literally. Get me Lieutenant Kalsa at once, and tell him—!"
"Ahem," Libia coughed pointedly. "Mister Prefectus. A word."
"Now is not the time, Miss Libio!" Prefectus snapped at her, waving her off without even a glance her way. "And you will address me as Governor! We will address your lack of respect at a later date, but for now, get out of my office! And as for you, get me Lieutenant Kalsa and—"
"I believe I can save you some time by informing you that ex-Lieutenant Kalsa is also unavailable," Libia dryly informed the governor.
"…what was that?" the Governor grit out, slowly looking up at her.
"Along with Lieutenants, Sergeants and Corporals Kobayakawa, Daimon, Ooi, Zaveri, Stavish, Tuckerman…" Libia shrugged with feigned indifference. "Basically, everyone in the police force who was in your pocket."
Prefectus sputtered as Libia turned her attention down to the snail. "Officer, I will handle this, I apologize for the disturbance to your work. Please see that everything proceeds as discussed, if you will."
"Aye-aye, ma'am. We'll inform you of any developments as they arise."
"Good man," she nodded, and with that, she hung up.
By now, Prefectus was full-on glaring at Libia, looking fit to erupt. "Miss Libio," he grit out, his words undercut by the grinding of his teeth. "For your gross insubordination, you can consider yourself fired, effective immediately!" Prefectus slapped the side of his snail's shell with a fierce snort. "Dial Oyamada so I can tell him to draw up the paperwork, you—!"
"He won't pick up either, Mr. Prefectus."
The rising rant choked on its own bile when the bureaucrat found his glare being matched venom for venom, with Libia providing some extra toxicity of her own to spare. The fruitlessly ringing snail between them only gave her words more weight.
"You see, the reason you cannot contact Higuchi or Oyamada is that they have both been arrested on charges of corruption," she coldly explained. "Funnily enough, the same can be said about the majority of the upper echelons of the Government. We had to go very far down the department hierarchy to find acting heads for them. You should really have kept a more open door, Mister Prefectus; if you had, you'd have noticed that there's hardly another soul in the building apart from you."
"You…" Prefectus echoed, his veins visibly pulsing. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, you two-beri number cruncher, but you should have kept your head where it belongs, down in your books counting MY MONEY!" He slammed his fist down on his desk. "I'll deal with this mess, and then I'll see you ruined, but for the moment, GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"
"No, mister Prefectus," Libia said, glaring hellfire at her erstwhile superior.
"What did you just—?!" Prefectus began. Then he shook himself and, with a visible effort, pulled together a cold, professional demeanour. "Miss Libio, I am warning you for the last time. Get out of my office, or I can't guarantee you'll see tomorrow."
Libia's jaw set firmly, her temper fraying almost to the point of snapping, she nonetheless controlled herself enough to only glare harder. "First," she bit out. "For what I hope will be the final time I ever have to do this, my name. Is. Libia!"
The snarled correction was punctuated by a fist slammed onto the man's desk, and followed up by a thoroughly vicious grin. "And second, I very much do not regret informing you that you no longer have the authority to do that, Mr. Prefectus."
"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" the rotund bureaucrat bellowed indignantly. "That's Governor to you, and I have the authority to do what I damn well—!"
"Actually," Libia cut him off, her grin turning venomous. "As of two hours ago, you aren't, and you most definitely don't."
Prefectus reeled back with a sputter. "W-What are you—?!"
Libia practically tore a document out of her pocket and slapped it—slammed it, really—down on the desk, shoving it forward for Prefectus to boggle at. "Remember when I said we'd confirmed new acting heads for all departments? At noon today, the Sabaody Regional Government conducted an emergency vote of no confidence, and by the final tally, every single one of them has no confidence in you." Libia stepped back and raised her chin as Prefectus scrambled to pick up the paper and raked his eyes over it, analyzing it in nothing short of total panic. "Mister Prefectus, you are hereby relieved of your duties as Governor of the Sabaody Archipelago, effective immediately."
"T-This…" Prefectus wheezed, his face rapidly paling, and panic setting in at the sheer gravity of his situation. "This can't be happening! T-This isn't happening! This is treachery! R-Rebellion! Revolution!"
"No, Mister Prefectus," Libia sniffed primly. "The word you're looking for is 'coup,' and you're on the receiving end of it. OFFICERS!"
To Prefectus's horror, the law enforcement officers who had shadowed Libia marched into the room and flanked the ex-number cruncher.
"Your orders, Acting-Governor Libia?" the lead officer intoned, pointedly ignoring Prefectus's panicked stammering.
The thus-named Acting-Governor jabbed her finger at her inglorious predecessor. "Arrest this man for bribery, corruption, gross incompetence, every one of the myriad crimes he's committed that you can think of, and get him out of my office."
At that, Prefectus seemed to get some composure back and grabbed the rifle hanging on the wall. The officers promptly tackled him to the ground, bound him up with cuffs, and then dragged him out, kicking and screaming. Libia took her seat behind the Governor's desk, triumph written over her features as he was dragged out and the door pulled shut.
…and the moment that it closed, cold fury gave way to cold sweat and hyperventilation.
"What have I done? What have I done? WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST DO!?" was the gist of her panicked rambling, and it was all that she could manage to avoid outright screaming the words at the top of her lungs. Two women materializing from the shadows—specifically, one figuratively melting out of the shadows and the other literally coalescing and materializing from thin air—before her was only slightly calming.
"You're doing perfectly fine, Mrs. Libia, there's nothing to panic about," Vivi reassured the bureaucrat.
"Nothing to panic about!?" Libia wheezed. "I just confessed to a coup, I'm practically the only one still in this building, that fat bastard threatened to have me killed, and I just usurped a position that I'm not even remotely cut out for! I cannot keep this job!"
"And you don't need to," Robin pointed out, her 'sunny' disposition intact. "Or at least, not for very long. You only need to stay the course until the World Government is no longer able to interfere; in all likelihood, you'll be back to your previous position in a week, tops."
"And what if the World Government sends CP9 after me in the meantime!? Your crew was the one who proved they're real and that the Government will send them out without a second thought!" the panicking bureaucrat bemoaned.
"They were also the ones who destroyed them, and they and I can and will do it again if we must," Robin calmly replied, filing her nails on the blade of her butterfly knife. "Any assassins that make it this far will meet their match against us. You'll never notice the knife ten inches from your neck, or the bullet narrowly grazing your—"
"Robin, stop speaking," Vivi groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she waited for Libia's latest bout of hyperventilation to die down. Once her breathing evened out—and she was certain Robin's tongue was properly glued to the roof of her mouth—Vivi waved her arms as placatingly as she could manage. "And Libia, I promise you, without any incongruous morbid rambling—"
Vivi pointedly ignored the disembodied dope-slap she received at that comment.
"—that we will keep you as safe as we can until we're gone. By that point, all the blame for this will lie on our shoulders, and you'll be nice and forgotten." Vivi's gaze then sharpened intently. "But before all that, we need to do the thing that was the entire reason we put you in that chair in the first place, so if you don't mind…?"
Libia took a few seconds to gulp down calmly some more, then nodded, this time with only a slight shake. "I… alright, alright, fine. Let's do this, then. What do you need from me?"
The Corsair Princess unfurled a document from her pocket and laid it out on the desk, proffering a pen to the Acting-Governor as she indicated a line at the bottom.
"All you need to do is sign at the X."
Libia nodded shakily, accepted the pen, and laid it to the paper. And then she froze, slowly looking up at the pirates with an expression laden with doubt.
"Can… I just note the irony, and perhaps more importantly, the hypocrisy, of booting out my predecessor based on how frequently he accepted backroom deals and bribery, only to turn around and get in bed with pirates the literal second I take his seat?" she asked.
Robin cleared her throat and gave Vivi a look. Muttering darkly, the princess dismissed the command. "You do yourself a disservice by forgetting the context, Mrs. Libia," Robin stated. "Your predecessor accepted those deals for personal gain and actively ruined the lives of those he was obliged to protect. In comparison, what are potential outcomes for this as they pertain to you?"
Libia swallowed heavily and tugged at her collar, eyeing the paper like it was a venomous snake. "At worst? Execution or assassination. And not fast, either."
"And what potential personal gain do you stand to achieve from this transaction?"
"Well…" Libia glanced about uncertainly. "…chances are I'll get some new and less corrupt management now, and my job won't leave me wanting to bash my head in after I clock out…"
"You knew the stakes when we explained the plan," Vivi picked up, laying a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. "You knew that there would be a high personal risk and negligible accolades in return for those risks. And yet you still went through with it. Why?"
Libia clenched her eyes shut, visibly trembling. But when she opened them, they blazed with the same fire that had gotten her recruited for this endeavour in the first place. "…because this will make the lives of others better. Because I personally believe in the righteousness of this cause. Because it's the right thing to do."
Vivi pushed the paper forward. "Sign here, here, and here."
This time, when Libia put her pen to the paper, she didn't put it down until the document was filled out. Vivi didn't waste a second waiting for the ink to dry; instead, she swiftly blasted the document with warm air to lock the signatures in place, then ripped the paper away and literally stormed through the building to get it in front of a notary.
With the deed now done and her adrenaline spent, Libia slumped bonelessly in her seat, her mind awhirl as she processed once more what the hell she had just done. And in her state of semi-panic, she grasped onto one niggling doubt in particular and glanced Robin's way. "So you're sure the Marines won't try to kill me?" she whimpered.
Robin's response was to chuckle in a way that was both encouraging and yet entirely not. "Oh, you can rest assured, Acting-Governor; the Marines will find themselves even more preoccupied than they already were very soon."
-o-
"Those damned Straw Hats and their damned charisma have ruined my damned business!" a broken and bruised slaver raved, nearly wrenching his arm out of the sling it was in in the process. "They wrecked my store! Stole my merchandise! Stole all my hard-earned money! You need to get it back, damn it! What the hell do I pay you, bastards, for?!"
It should have been a surprise that the one acting as a sympathetic ear and shoulder to this man was blatantly clad in a Marine uniform, and especially since they were standing in a storefront with bloodstained chains and busted cages strewn about.
Tragically, to the inhabitants of Sabaody, it was anything but.
Just as it wasn't a surprise that while the commander of the Marine squad took notes on the destitute slaver's testimony, the rest of his squad stood guard around the store, ignoring all the blatant evidence strewn about with professional skill.
The commander nodded wordlessly through the testimony, right up until he heard the slaver's comment regarding his financing. At that point, the pencil snapped in the Marine's fingers, and he fixed the slaver with a scathing glare. "The better question is, how do you intend to pay us now if you don't have any money left, HM?" the commander pointedly asked.
The slaver's ire swiftly melted into panic, the man stammering for a moment before affixing a fearful smile on his face. "W-Well, when I say they stole all my money, I-I only mean they stole what I had on hand! I-I still have plenty of funds s-stashed away offshore, I swear!" The slaver's cold sweat redoubled as the Marine's glare did the same. "A-A-And the funds they stole from me are all yours too, once you recover them, on top of my monthly payments!" A scowl spread over his face. "Just make sure you get my merchandise back to me so I can make up for the loss! Money I lose is money you lose too, you know!"
Grunting dismissively, the commander stored his notebook and turned to leave. "Yeah, yeah, we'll see what we can do. It's not like you're the only one who got hit, you know." And with that, he walked away, deliberately avoiding any eye contact with the evidence lying under his feet.
Once more, this total and purposeful ignorance was nothing that the inhabitants had not seen before.
"Hey, what are you all doing? That man is a slaver, we need to arrest—ow!"
"Shut up and take your cut, rookie."
A recently transferred Marine who had not yet been exposed to the corruption of his base, having their illicit practices forced upon him. This was also nothing that the inhabitants had not seen before.
"…you two… you're actually going to—!? What the hell is wrong with you guys? Put your hands behind your back, you're—"
Ka-click-click-click-click.
Without a word or even a second glance, the commander walked on, ignoring his entourage as they drew and cocked their weapons, aiming straight at the man who had spoken up. All was nothing even remotely new to the inhabitants, who had seen every step of this play out before.
But what happened next?
"KAMA-ITACHI!" SHINNG!
Yeah, that was new. One of the Marines sheathed her sword as she stepped over the firing squad she'd just cut down, and stood alongside the Marine who had been about to be shot, adjusting the surgical mask she was wearing. A small group of other Marines approached from outside the store, their apparent lack of attention discarded in favour of deadly focus.
"Nobody threatens my men but me," the masked Marine intoned venomously. "And speaking of, men, arrest these stains."
The Marines saluted, then got to work, grabbing and shackling their corrupt brethren before they had a chance to recover. Two of the men split off to grab and subdue the commander of the Marines, forcing him to his knees in spite of his protests, while two more shoved the slaver down alongside him.
"Rrgh, what are you even doing!? This is how things work around here!" the commander spat, struggling against the men holding him. "You think you'll be rewarded for this?! Newsflash, the Government doesn't care what these scum do as long as they pay through the nose for it, not one man in the entire garrison doesn't know that! You'll have your cut just like the rest of us if you stand down!" He then deepened his scowl with a vicious snort. "And if you don't, you can take it up with the Public Employment Security Office. Marines quit without warning every day, and they're always taking new applicants."
The masked Marine slowly turned to face him, the glare of the sun reflecting off her glasses. "Oh, is that so, commander?"
Before the corrupt Marine could respond, she reached up and removed her mask, revealing a face that every last one of the Sabaody garrison had memorized as a possible threat to their well-being and pocketbooks. This was someone who couldn't be swayed by any amount of money; as baffling as it was to the Sabaody Marines, she put her life on the line for altruism. And worst of all, she was good at it, too.
"No, no, don't stop there, you were on a roll," the recently dubbed 'Inquisitor' Tashigi said. "These backstreet deals, these applicants you mentioned… Tell me more."
The commander's jaw worked fruitlessly for a long moment before he clicked it shut. "Well, we're right fucked, aren't we?" he squeaked.
"As they like to say in Alabasta," one of the soldiers holding him chuckled grimly. "'Right in the down under.'"
"An understatement, if I have anything to say about it," Tashigi added, tapping Shigure's sheath in her palm. "But before all that, there's actually one other thing I want from you." She jabbed the tip of her sheath at the slaver. "The information to access your offshore bank accounts. You're going to tell me all of it."
While the commander's expression contorted in confusion at the distinctly off-character demand from the poster child for Marine integrity, the slaver had no such context and, as such, just struggled harder.
"Y-You bitch! I'm not telling you a damn thing! That money is all I have left in the world! You call yourselves defenders of justice?! I-I won't give in to this coercion! This-This brutality!"
Tashigi's gaze narrowed into a vicious glare. "Shocking how those accusations can come to mean not a damn thing depending on the subject." She then cocked her lips into a fiendish smirk. "And for the record, did I say 'tell?' I meant show. Take him out, Popora."
"KYUN!"
THWACK!
And neither of the criminals knew anything more.
-o-
Tashigi nodded proudly while her men dragged off the dazed and woozy Marines and slavers, all of whom would be having a rather difficult time remembering the exact details of what had just happened to them. But for all that Tashigi was pleased, there was still one thing she was fuzzy on, prompting her to direct a doubtful look at her even fuzzier subordinate.
"That was very well done, as usual, but…" She tilted her head at Popora. "Why did you hit the Marines, too?"
"Kyun," the rabbit-wolf sighed in a patient yet put-upon manner as he took out a notepad and scribbled something down. He then folded his ear-wings upon themselves as he showed Tashigi what he'd written—
"THEY HAD HOW MUCH MONEY!?"
—the better to weather Tashigi's shocked shriek.
One of Tashigi's men glanced over her shoulder at the sum and whistled. "Little fella must have dug out their own cuts of the take, too. Gotta admit, no matter what we say about it, crime really does pay, huh, ma'am?"
It took Tashigi a few seconds to recover, but once she did, she gained a savage grin of her own. "Well! In that case, I say we double down on what we were already planning, and pay all that out alongside the slavers' funds into the Divine's warchest." She slammed her fist into her palm with a determined nod. "Come on, men! Time for us to implement a new income tax."
The marines and wolf-dog all exchanged doubtful looks for a moment before waving their hands/paws in so-so gestures. "Meh…"/"Kyun…"
Tashigi's head snapped around with a snarl, an inch of Shigure's steel clicking out of its sheath. "What was that?"
"N-NOTHING, LIEUTENANT TASHIGI, MA'AM!"/"Hrmmph…"
"That's what I thought! Now, move out!"
-o-
It made things a little more convenient, with Gif and Soundbite jointly handling the SBS this time around, as it meant Soundbite could focus on censoring the more sensitive aspects of our conversation. Something that was especially vital when taking a breather. A Straw Hat-themed dive bar was good for security purposes, but when we had passionate enough fans to try reading lips and memorizing every whisper that came from them, the location lost a few points for being so blatantly fan-oriented.
"So, Pisces has started her end of things," I said, smirking but moving my lips as little as possible, feeling for all the world like a villainous mastermind. Which, let's be honest here, I kind of was by this point. Pity that I didn't have Lassoo with me; I would have loved to complete the image by menacingly stroking my pet, but what can you do?
Well, I'd also need a better locale, because Straw Hat-themed or not, a dive bar was certainly not the best of locations in which to plot and enact master schemes of world-changing proportions. But hey, I was a pirate on a budget; I didn't have much choice. Plus, again, it was a Straw Hat-themed dive, and the owner was kind enough to let me use a table to plan while Kid moved on to hit other slave houses. I didn't exactly have room to be ungrateful. He was oddly familiar too, for a reason I couldn't quite place, but eh, it would come to me.
"And now let's see where we are…" I mused, counting down on my fingers. "Marines are about to get reamed, Vivi and Robin have stuck a stick of dynamite up this place's tailpipe and secured us the last hyper-critical piece we needed, we've hit a pretty high critical mass on the number of slaves we've freed, at least half of the pirates that have made it to the archipelago are getting in on the act… yeah, we're making good time here. Anyone need anything while I'm here?"
"Well, so long as you're asking…" Soundbite piped Urouge's inquiring voice into me. "Is there any reason that we're not going after the Human Auction House, Cross? You said yourself that it's the biggest one, so—?"
"Yes, I did, and that's a major reason why we're not touching that place with a mile-long pole, because it's even bigger than you think," I snapped, spinning my finger to signal Soundbite to send my voice to all our allies. "We might have all thirteen Supernovas working together on this crusade of ours, but the Auction House is backed by one Warlord, and we Straw Hats have already taken out the only two Warlords on the roster who weren't New World-level strong. But hey!" I made sure my shrug was audible in my voice. "If you think you have a chance of fighting off Donquixote Doflamingo, take your shot. Sure, it's a toss-up on whether or not he'll give a damn, but I'm not planning on poking a dragon, even if he is occupied with other things."
I let the sheer gravity of that statement sink in… and then I smirked.
"Or at least, I'm leaving it until we're running out of here like our rudders are on fire, once everything else is on fire behind us."
A collection of groans, both good-natured and goodly exasperated, rang out.
"One of these days, Cross, maybe I'll stop assuming that you have any good sense about who you provoke," Conis mused thoughtfully.
"You'll never find out,~" Soundbite sneered.
"But for now, I'm about to give you all a big hint about which way my attitudes lean in that regard," I chuckled, pushing myself up from my table. "I'm going to polish off one last ploy I've got in store before we move on to the main event and blow everything literally up until now clean out of the water!"
"Ohoho, is that so? Do tell more, deary!"
I jumped and spun around in shock. The remark had come from one of the many characters hanging around the bar. A word that, in most cases, simply referred to the colourful individuals that were a dime a dozen in this world, and especially in this ocean.
The white-clad chemist woman—who either had tall, black, spiky hair or a hat resembling it and was wearing a pair of thick, tinted goggles—peering over from a nearby table where she was mixing several vials of pink liquid, was not one of those cases.
"Ohohoh, do pardon my little interruption, Mister Cross," she crooned in a dulcet voice that brought to mind a thousand violins… being played by Luffy. "But I would love to know how you plan to outdo yourself with this!"
She swept herself up from her seat and spun about in a grandiose manner.
"First, gathering all of the most infamous pirates in this generation together and pointing them at the slavers—the nasty little slavers. Then you start robbing them of their resources and funds, which inspires other pirates to rob them of their resources and funds as well, box them in so that they can't leave the island, and manipulate the Marines and government to box them up in prison on top of that. And when it goes to court—"
She suddenly spun around and struck a pose. "AHAHAHA! They'll be smashed with the hammer of their own justice! It's brilliant, brilliant, BRILLIANT, I tell you! Genius, I say!"
A particularly exuberant gesture knocked over some of her vials, sending them crashing onto the floor. Nothing happened beyond a mess, which was strange because I could have sworn something was supposed to explode in this situation, and I could definitely hear the sounds of a detonation somewhere… oh, no, wait, that was just a spare vestige of sanity left in my head, my mistake.
"…THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING EVER IN THE HISTORY OF EVER," Soundbite mumbled, adding to my suffering.
"…silly me, got carried away there," the chemist simpered in an entirely too fake tone. "But anyway! Tell me what you're doing next! I need to hear your words!"
I fended off the creepy vibes she was radiating and smirked menacingly. "Now, now, you'll have your answer along with everyone else before the day is out. Within the next couple of hours, even. No offence, but I'm not trusting anyone else with a preview of the midshow-showstopper for multiple reasons." I blinked as I ran what I'd just said through my head. "'Midshow-showstopper,' no, that's no good, I can do better than that…"
"HALFTIME H-BOMB?" Soundbite piped in.
"Ah, that works, thanks!"
The woman frowned but cast her arm over her forehead with an exaggerated put-upon sigh. "Oh, very well… all the best plans go awry if anything gets leaked, after all." She settled slowly back down in her seat, then looked at me again. "Incidentally, though, I'm a frequent patron of this bar. Any chance I could get a snapshot with you so I can prove that I met one of the Straw Hats in person?"
"Innocent question, you ever wonder WHAT TINNITIS SOUNDS LIKE!?"
"Sorry, sorry, two of the Straw Hats in person," she hastily revised before clapping her hands expectantly. "Now then, BARTENDER!"
"Uh, yeah, folks?" answered the suspiciously familiar bodybuilder-esque bartender, setting down a tray before us. "Anything I can help you with? Food? Drink? I offer a mean back rub if you've got the time!"
"Later, bartender, later," the chemist waved her hand dismissively, and before either of us could properly react, she'd tossed him a camera and draped her arm around my shoulders as she struck an extremely ostentatious pose. "For now, immortalize this moment, if you would please!"
I gave her a doubtful look before shrugging and donning my own grin as I flashed the camera a peace sign.
One flash and photograph signing later, and I was turning around, all ready to book it!
"Now then, darling…"
"HYERK!"
When out of the blue, the lady swung her arms around my neck and all but draped herself off of me with a way too toothy smile.
"Would you care to hear how else I can think of immortalizing this beautiful moment?"
Yeah, you can imagine that that froze me up, but good.
In all fairness, the woman before me wasn't ancient like the counterpart she was giving me flashbacks of; I'd say she wasn't any older than 30 on the outside, and even quite attractive under the lab gear she was wearing. Unfortunately, I wasn't in much of a position to be slowed down by crazy stalkers (emphasis on crazy) today of all days and now of all times, and the flashes of what she could look like in my mind's eye weren't doing me any favours either.
So, acting on a whim that I hoped was well-founded, I plastered a shaky smile on my face as I reached behind me to a skull that was on display as part of a 3D jolly roger and grabbed one of its incisors.
"Actually," I chuckled semi-hysterically. "I'd rather immortalize this moment by pulling this lever!"
That got her blinking behind her goggles. "What lever—?"
THUNK!
"AAAHHH! WRONG LEveeeeer…!"
I was immensely grateful that upon yanking the tooth, the floor directly in front of me fell out from under the stalker scientist and sent her plummeting out of sight. I slumped forward and wiped my forehead with a sigh of relief. "Nope, I'm pretty sure that was definitely the right lever."
I paused as a thought occurred to me, and I looked up curiously. "…why do you even have that lever?" I posed to the barkeep, immediately regretting my wording when my partner started busting another nonexistent rib.
The bartender scoffed and looked at me like I'd lost… even more of my mind. "Uh, hello? Episode 76, Usopp's lecture on—"
"The theory, implementation, and advantages of trapdoors, right, right, right, now I remember!" I chuckled, slapping my forehead in realization. "Well, as long as it works! Anyway, it's been fun and thanks for letting me hang out, but I've got to bounce! Halftime H-Bombs don't set themselves up, you know?"
"Oh, before you go!" He knelt down and brought up a steaming tray of oh damn it now it hits me. "Care to try some of the house special, my spinach puffs?
I deliberately allowed all emotion to drain from my face as Soundbite's howling crescendoed to the point where he actually keeled clean off my shoulder.
The man tilted his head in confusion. "Is that a no?"
-o-
"Razza-frazzin' Cross, razza-frazzin' Sabaody, razza-frazzin'—!"
"Somethin' eatin' at you, daaarlin'?" a feline-looking individual sneered over his tuna casserole. "Is yer humble pie a wee little bit raw?"
"No, no, it's the perfect temperat—RAGH!" the shirtless but jacket-wearing woman sitting across from the Mink snarled. Winding up like a fastball pitcher, she bounced her glass off his goggles, which did absolutely nothing to stop his cackling. "Kindly choke on a furball, hubby dear."
The cat-mink—A.K.A. Lindbergh, Commander of the Revolutionary Army's Southern Armies, chuckled and waved her off. "Ahhh, come on, Betty Boop—!"
The woman—A.K.A. Belo Betty, Commander of the East Army, twitched and shot a scathing glower at the screen the SBS was playing on. "One more thing to stuff that slimy pest down his owner's throat for…"
"Oh, pish posh, come on, now!" Lindbergh scoffed, waving his hand but smiling ear to ear. "Tell ol' 'dear and darlin' Lindy—the cat one, not the badass lizardy one—your problems! Psh, come on, it's almost like you're, I dunno, jealous of Cross or something! Zizizi!"
"…" Betty remained pointedly silent at that comment, glancing away from her cohort, her teeth digging into her lower lip.
Even behind his goggles, the widening of Lindbergh's eyes was plainly obvious. "…oh dear lordy, you are. The fact that it's entirely to our benefit is immaterial because he's a normie who's managing to blow your ability out of the water, isn't it?"
Betty still didn't say a word, but the way she guiltily glanced down at the table spoke volumes.
The feline mink's grin took on a more sincere air as he leaned across the table to place a comforting hand on Betty's arm. "Well, then, as your beloved friend, companion, and fake fiancée for the sake of this dinner…"
The Pump-Woman glanced up at her friend …
He suddenly slammed back into his seat, howling with mirth, with a fuzzy finger pointed at her. "ALLOW ME TO LAUGH EVEN HARDER! ZIZIZIZIZIIIII!"
"I WILL DROWN YOU IN THE SOUP, YOU MANGY—!"
With it being the Baratie and an arguing 'couple,' nobody was all that disturbed when Betty shot halfway across the table and did her level best to try and throttle her chortling 'friend.' Of course, it may have also had something to do with them having a VIP room to themselves.
The only witness to their fight was Zeff, who had taken it upon himself to personally deliver the dining cart with their orders. And even then, he didn't actually see anything so much as he beheld his two incognito patrons sitting comfortably in their seats, slightly dishevelled and a few (thankfully empty) plates rattling to a halt between them. He took one look at the completely comfortable and innocent 'couple' and barely kept from rolling his eyes.
"Everything alright in here?" he asked politely. As polite as Zeff ever was, anyway.
Lindbergh coughed and polished his knuckles on his jacket, grinning all the while. "Oh yes, everything's fine, the food is resplendent, my good man!" he crooned, pitching his voice into the most exaggerated, hoity-toity, and fake tone he could manage.
"Yeah. It's swell," Betty grit out in agreement, her twitching face clearly the result of a nervous tic, and not her heartfelt desire to stab something. Or one, as it were.
The head chef allowed himself a slight smirk as he pushed his cart forward. "Well, in that case, allow me to recommend our famous chilli." Zeff's smirk deepened with a hint of an edge. "Local critics have rated it with five red flags."
The Revolutionaries' distracted animosity instantly vanished as they both snapped their full attention to Zeff. Lindbergh cocked his head to the side. "Maybe side it with some red lobster legs, hm?" he inquired piercingly, actually sounding serious for the first time that day.
Betty ground her cigarette in her jaws as she nodded in agreement with the cat-mink. "Yeah, and could you cook them here for us? We're particularly fond of dropping them in the pot and listening to them squeal."
The tension in the room ratcheted up for a good minute until Zeff smirked and gave them a nod.
"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, enjoy your meal," he said before exiting the room.
Settling back into place, the two Revolutionaries fell into companionable silence for a minute, Lindbergh taking a bite of one of the best hamburgers he'd ever had while Betty sipped spoonful after delectable spoonful of ajoblanco.
But as was par for the course for the more… influential people on the high seas, such peace could not be allowed to stand for long. Case in point…
"Not going straight for the marzipan?" the literal cat-person snickered, shooting his ally yet another cocky smirk.
"This is much harder to come across," Betty retorted, pointedly ignoring the jab in favour of the flavour of her soup, though not without eyeing the dessert platter nearby. "But you know, I figured it was only a matter of time before that happened."
"Oh, agreed on that front," Lindbergh nodded sagely. "Grand Line veterans are never pushovers, and the word on the street is really foggy about where and why Red Leg decided to pull out, so yeah, let's step lightly." He took a final bite to finish his first burger and then leaned back in his seat. "But anyway, where were we…"
Lindbergh snickered at Betty's prior emotional storm cloud, which had snapped back into place. "Ah, right, your complete and utter upstaging! But, ah, seriously…" he coughed, his voice going down to the closest thing to sympathy he could manage. "Look, he's a rabble-rouser and kind of pushing on your schtick, I get that, but it's not that bad! I mean, c'mon… It's not like he's…" Lindbergh blew out a scoff as he rolled his hand dismissively. "I dunno, actually getting in front of a crowd and trying to start a riot."
"Attention, people of Sabaody Archipelago!"
The pair froze and slowly turned their attention to the display, which now showed Jeremiah Cross… standing on a pile of crates… in front of a crowd.
Lindbergh slowly blinked and tilted his head. "… huh, would you look at that."
Both individuals present were now acutely aware of the steady spike in blood pressure one of them was now experiencing. The other, for his part, simply chose to ignore any semblance of good sense.
Which is to say, Lindbergh looked back at Betty with a perfectly innocent smile. "…ya know, maybe if you ask really nice, he could give you some tips or—?"
"THAT DOES IT!"
A blind man could have seen this result coming, yet Lindbergh made no attempt to dodge as Betty threw herself clean across the table—expertly avoiding the remaining food upon it in the process—and tackled him to the ground.
"Oh, honey, here upon the carpet! You're a beast, a savage—OW, WATCH THE WHISKERS, YOU TWO-BIT SOAPBOX PREACHER!"