Sylvester Sweet watched the crowd before him once again erupt into a frenzy of fighting. Most of them chased after the lone figure that, for some reason or another, had been targeted by the tell group of hunters in the back. The auction house was thrown into a fight once again, this time with a bit more organization, as everyone could actually tell who the other was. Towards the back of the room were tied the marine squadron, furiously trying to break from the rope which bound them. Knowing they had the capacity to quell some of this disorder, Sylvester made his way across the crowd, maneuvering around and between confrontations to finally reach them.
The cowboy knelt down by his own rope, delicately untying the bindings.
“Don’t think this earns you any favors cowboy criminal!” the petty officer from before shouted. “We’re not about to forget that you’re the one who tried to get us interrogated!”
Sylvester couldn’t help but smirk at that threat. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Link,” he said, startling the young marine with the name, “I’m only asking that you all do your job.” The law enforcement freed, he reeled back his rope, stepping out of their way. Yet, the marine captain stood eye to eye with Sylvester, staring him down.
“Just remembering your face, stranger,” the marine captain said before walking away to begin his job within Pumpkin Sabbath. “I never forget a face!” Despite that statement sounding like a threat, the marine stepped into the fray with his cutlass drawn, already beginning to fight, and completely ignoring Sylvester himself. And, with the marines attempting to put down the auction, Sylvester was free to pursue the figure that had revitalized the battle in the auction house, and figure out just why that had happened.
He ran towards the door only to find a wide group of armed men and women plugging up the passage. Standing above the ranks was a tall man with dark hair drooping down towards the point of his nose, other locks of hair flowing past his ears like a pointed cap. He wore a rippled, white coat that seemed quite large on his lanky frame and surveyed Sylvester with an eyebrow raised into his haircut.
“Oh,” Kong said, taking passive note of the cowboy. “It’s the little cowboy who would be chief.”
The cowboy knelt down by his own rope, delicately untying the bindings.
“Don’t think this earns you any favors cowboy criminal!” the petty officer from before shouted. “We’re not about to forget that you’re the one who tried to get us interrogated!”
Sylvester couldn’t help but smirk at that threat. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Link,” he said, startling the young marine with the name, “I’m only asking that you all do your job.” The law enforcement freed, he reeled back his rope, stepping out of their way. Yet, the marine captain stood eye to eye with Sylvester, staring him down.
“Just remembering your face, stranger,” the marine captain said before walking away to begin his job within Pumpkin Sabbath. “I never forget a face!” Despite that statement sounding like a threat, the marine stepped into the fray with his cutlass drawn, already beginning to fight, and completely ignoring Sylvester himself. And, with the marines attempting to put down the auction, Sylvester was free to pursue the figure that had revitalized the battle in the auction house, and figure out just why that had happened.
He ran towards the door only to find a wide group of armed men and women plugging up the passage. Standing above the ranks was a tall man with dark hair drooping down towards the point of his nose, other locks of hair flowing past his ears like a pointed cap. He wore a rippled, white coat that seemed quite large on his lanky frame and surveyed Sylvester with an eyebrow raised into his haircut.
“Oh,” Kong said, taking passive note of the cowboy. “It’s the little cowboy who would be chief.”