Gran Voyage Type: Devil Fruit
Gran Voyage Location: Sandy Island
Level: 2
"All losses in this world are due to a lack of ability."
Emanuel himself was stationed at the door, periodically waving a paper fan that brought only marginal relief. He was sweating and miserable to be honest, but out of his sense of duty and respect, he remained silent as the people gathered and sat solemnly for the last refrain of the ceremony. He wasn't yet rid of the stigma of his mission from the family of the deceased, though he had steeled his backbone and said not a word. As it happened, his thoughts and mood were still rather solemn.
Did he question his decision; have a moment where he contemplated and pondered the philosophical and intrinsic value of life? Not really. He had apologized and felt the burden of his decision's weight, but he wasn't one to question himself like that. Going down that road was the last thing he would want for himself.
Once the body was lifted and carried away to its final resting place, the family were the last to say their peace before the inevitable adjourning. Emanuel stood guard at the gate, watching in case anyone tried anything funny. This was to be a short, private gathering right on the eve as the nobles were going to be setting off. Departing from Alabasta before they faced retribution. Even this was a gambit and Emanuel had the 5 Ensigns he'd been assigned guarding the perimeter outside. Despite it all, they had luckily managed to keep a relatively low profile and the time passed without incident.
His farewells were kept curt and short as well, with mostly just the general 'goodbye' and 'thank you' being his most uttered replies. With everything ready to go, Emanuel waited until after the nobles had already set off and were heading towards the horizon to go and grab his assignees and depart. They too were not ship-ready. All of them were still tired from the trip and supplies were too light to even think of being prepared for the trip by nightfall.
The Enforcer, the ship that had been lent to him by Lu Dahn, was in the docks after having taken some damage escorting the nobles. Nothing too severe, but it reinforced his hesitance to raise anchor and set off right away. They would sail, first thing in the morning, but he decided the lot of them could afford a rest before making the trip to Water 7 to meet up with Lu Dahn.
With the Ensigns off to do their own thing, Emanuel decided he would use what daylight there was left to train himself. Almost every marine on the island usually went to the same spot to practice drills and hone combat skills: a small space used by the instructors behind the Marine base. When he arrived there, he had half-heartedly been expecting it to be full at this time of day, but it seemed he had just missed the final regiment as there was only one occupant there.
Emanuel walked up and started practicing from a distance, starting the ritual with his warm-ups and stretches before fetching a dummy to practice with. As he began his kicking practice, he took several glances at his company. He was an elderly, grayed man with a head of balding, though salt-licked silver hair, a curled graying mustache, and a rather portly body shape with thick arms and legs.
Rocking back and forth on the small stone pavilion aside the training ground, his eyes focused on the book in his hand to the exclusion of all else. Emanuel may as well have been invisible for what it was worth. Judging from the accommodations on the coat beside him, he was Captain in rank. The hat sitting on the large stool alongside him looked like it had been severely scorched in a great battle.
There was a sense of captivation, awe, and the feeling that he recognized the man. Emanuel had to rack his brain, searching hard in his memories before it came to him in a sudden flash and his eyes lit up. He could recall his name and image with perfect clarity then: Captain Ivan V. Breaker. A centenarian of the Marines, but still holding an advisory role and very well-respected by younger marines. Despite his age, rumor had it that he was still sharp as a tack.
The young half-fishman stared for a moment, not really even sure if he could recall the source of that information. Without thinking, he turned back to training and excitedly began to redouble his efforts like a madman on drugs. The poor sandbagged dummy was nearly beaten to death for the next 20 minutes. Emanuel would have kept going until it was a pile of dust, but a raspy, swollen voice suddenly interrupted him and pulled his attention back over.
"You are not doing it well. Step back.. and distribute your weight... evenly. Not all in your right foot. Your stance... is wrong." Emanuel pulled his foot back and turned around to face the origin. While he hadn't been paying attention, Ivan had laid his book down across his lap. Emanuel met his steely gaze by instinct and felt immediately like comparing it to those of a shark or a very hungry eel. After realizing he had just been instructed, Emanuel put both feet together and stood to attention.
"Thank... you sir." he replied breathlessly. His embarrassment flowered for a moment, suddenly moved by a lot of anxious energy he hadn't had earlier. He got back to beating on the doll after making the necessary adjustment to his balance. After that, Ivan didn't seem to utter another peep, only spectating while picking up his book again and continuing from the page he had left off. Emanuel continued on training with his patterns, occasionally mixing up the form and getting a increasingly more creative with the exercise. With Ivan's eyes upon him, his motivation skyrocketed and before he knew it, an hour had passed.
The 'thump-thump-thump' of the sandbag continued on until Emanuel was too tired to continue on and walked on over to the pavilion and sat down. When he went to sit down at the table beside Ivan, the elderly man raised a hand and pointed him over to a separate place a farther distance away. Not wanting to appear disrespectful, Emanuel assented and just silently walked on over.
After fetching some water, he returned to his spot in comfortable silence. Neither said a word, even though Emanuel would have liked to. The drink was refreshing and soothed him. His thighs and legs sore from exertion, but once he had finished his water, he picked himself up and stood once more.
Word Count: 1,149
STRENGTH 1 | ENDURANCE 0 | SPEED 2 | PERCEPTION 2 | WILLPOWER 2 |
Equipment: The Rotten Skull |