Sylvester Sweet was a bit baffled at the mixed bag of reactions he’d received to his offer, but was content nonetheless. His experience with Klinghoffer had taught him to expand his net quite a bit, and there’d be no better way of controlling these criminals than by inducting them into his own pirate crew. It was a little disappointing to see himself miss out on the orange-haired kid who went strangely bounding off into the snow, but with the way that fishman was swinging around his sword, the feeling didn’t stick around long. Besides, having Daimaru in his crew meant that he’d have all the time in the world to ask the guy as many questions as he pleased about his race’s strange quirks. 

With the fire slowly rising behind Sylvester, he donned his heavy coat and made for the cold streets of Water 7 with his newest crew mate, the shark-toothed swordsman. As much comfort as a fire might’ve brought on that cold day, any number of marines would be arriving soon enough to deal with the arsonists that caused it to spark to life. Meeting the man in the snow, he tipped his hat in acknowledgement. 

“So, partn-,” Sylvester stopped himself from dropping the ‘p’ word. But, for the cowboy, avoiding it would certainly be a challenge in and of itself. “So, Mr. Daimaru,” he corrected himself with a warm smile. “How about we mosey on back to my place, huh? Maybe I can suggest a change in wardrobe if you’d like?” he looked up and down the fishman, admiring the guy’s unique frame. It was a treat of a canvas to perhaps get the chance to work with, and Sylvester was quite eager to leap at the chance to do what he could with the guy.

A few people ran past the pair with horror on their face, shouting out for help to deal with the growing conflagration. But, a sense of calm kept the two in a vacuum from the flurry of action and excitement. Sylvester Sweet hoped this would merely be another step on his journey towards his dream on the Grand Line, and was confident a new ally would help him reach there.