Sylvester Sweet looked across a row of ships settled along the docks, examining the deck of each with great scrutiny. Many were packed with shipwrights and groups of men working across the hulls and masts. Each company’s members shouted at one another, speaking of friendly rivalries or grudges or bets as to just whose skill was greatest with their particular tools. Seeing messes cleaned and problems fixed would be quite the cathartic way to spend the afternoon, but Sylvester wasn’t just out to kill time. Coming across a particular sloop concealing its sails, he noticed what looked like its crew trying to load on to it some pitch black barrels.

An older looking man was scanning the scenery around, perhaps keeping watch for witnesses. That and distinct color of that barrel was proof enough for the cowboy to take action. The man bent down to help hoist up the barrel onto the small ship, and Sylvester made his move, snaking through the crowd on the docks towards that barrel.

Still, the three men were struggling to lift up the barrel, with two below it and the third pulling up from the deck of the ship. Amidst their great effort, Sylvester boarded the ship, climbing up its starboard side from the docks and walking right by them to enter into the cabin. The entrance was clean and slick, without any confrontation or conflict to slow him down. Whilst inside the messy cabin, Sylvester tried to look about for any clues that pertained to his investigation, but no such luck found him. With a heavy thud from outside the cabin door, the barrel had been lifted, sounding the end of the cowboy’s grace period.

The man outside opened up the door to the cabin and felt a hoop of rope tighten around his neck, pulling him off to the side. Sylvester kicked shut the door and further constricted his hold on the ship’s captain. “'Wild Hare,' Rowan Monstalk,” Sylvester said, identifying his captive, “head of the Stick and Carrot Pirates, with a bounty of 2,500,000 beli, if I’m not mistaken.” Sylvester only included that last part as a courtesy. He was definitely not mistaken. "My name is Sylvester Sweet, and I would very much appreciate your cooperation this fine afternoon.”

"My men are just outside. You're dead, stranger!" Rowan Monstalk shouted, just before his noose tightened, ending the captain's threats. Sylvester Sweet sighed. It was truly too bad that people all too often decided to be so obstructive to his efforts. Once he occupied a much higher position in the ladder of the world, he hoped such pestering problems vanished from his life.

Sylvester straightened up, "That's not a very cooperative tone you have there, bunny rabbit. I've only got one question for you, and then I'll let you and your men go free," he lied. "Where, precisely, did you get those barrels of Fairy Black from? Give me a location, and that's the last you'll have to see of me," Sylvester loosened the rope's grip, allowing the pirate to speak once again. 

Unfortunately, all that came from Rowan's mouth was a cry for help that surely permeated through the thin wooden walls of the cabin. Disappointed in his choice, Sylvester cast the pirate aside, throwing him against one side of the cabin and waiting just behind the closed door with his revolver drawn at the hip. One of the men who was laboring underneath the black barrel swung the door open, with a knife drawn, but was greeted with a clean shot to his gut, leveling the man. 

"NO!!!" Rowan roared, tears beginning to form up in his eyes. "You bastard!"

"Call off your sheepdogs, bunny rabbit," Sylvester said, "and give me a straight answer. Or else, our next guest meets the same fate." The cowboy punctuated his ultimatum with a thumb slowly pulling back on his sidearm's hammer. "You'd better decide real quick, bunny rabbit!" 

As he said that, a series of cracks and cracks rang out above the scene of the conflict, drawing Sylvester's eyes upwards. The moment he changed his perspective, Rowan leaped out from his side of the cabin, having freed himself from the rope and murder present in his eyes. But, instead of beginning an all out rush towards Sylvester, he swiveled, changing direction to leave the cabin.

"Now! Rory!"

The signal summoned a cascade of falling wooden planks and debris. Weighted crates and a series of strategic breaks in the structure above collapsed the cabin and sent in tumbling destructively inward. No time to avoid the unexpected avalanche, Sylvester Sweet found himself completely entombed by the mess, the faint sound of victorious laughter and jeers outside the wooden burial.

As Rowan and his surviving crew mate quickly celebrated over their victory, Sylvester Sweet fidgeted and struggled under the immense weight of the wooden planks, doing his best to shift each piece off of his body, one by one. Soon enough, the noise from his struggle caught the attention of the Stick and Carrot Pirates, and he was finally able to break a hand through the wood, revealing his arm. At least partially free from his wooden jail, he wrenched himself out from under what used to be the cabin.

Kneeling atop the horrifying mess, he was covered in dust and scratches. The two pirates looked at his figure in horror, amazed he could still be conscious after taking such a beating. Before they could respond to his emergence, Sylvester kicked out, launching a scattershot of debris towards the pair from the splinters and shrapnel that had fallen around him. In a moment, both had raised their hands on instinct, but were soon covered in dust and wood themselves.

In that opportunity, Sylvester targeted Rowan’s lackey, approaching the pirate with an outstretched arm before screwing his own body to throw the target across the deck. From behind him, Rowan Monstalk sought to end the fight with a drawn dagger to the cowboy’s back. Instead of chancing a puncture wound, Sylvester backed into the knife swiftly, getting inside the weapon’s range at the price of a shallow cut across the side of chest, punctuating the movement with an elbow to Rowan’s temple.

With the hit connecting, both pirates were leveled among the mess of what was left of their crew’s flagship. Sylvester was just tired enough to want to join them, but he hadn’t yet gotten what he came for. Rory, the captain’s lackey was already staggering to his feet, much to the frustration of Sylvester. Too exhausted to fight any further, he walked from Rory to Rowan, aiming his revolver at the fellow pirate captain.

At that, Rory froze in his tracks, unsure of how to progress. So, Sylvester showed him the way.

“I’ll make it exceedingly simple for you, bunny rabbit,” he said, already wiping some dust and blood from his shirt. “Tell me where your boss got that there black barrel, or find a new captain.”

Sylvester gauged there was some level of loyalty or kinship between these two. Not every captain knew their men by name, or trusted one another enough to pull of that tactic they had. If he was right, he’d finally get the source of the Fairy Black, and be on his way.

It seemed the cowboy’s estimation was on target as Rory grumbled and then answered the question. “There’s a bar near the northern end of the business district. It’s called Blue Flake. There’s a private office in the back, all you gotta do is ask for Perla Viteri, and you’ll have a date with our dealer.”

The intense commotion had long since drawn the attention of the authorities, who came rushing over to investigate just what had gone down. Luckily for Sylvester, this wouldn’t be a problem for him. After all, no bounty poster yet had gotten the good fortune of sporting his pretty face.

“There he is!” Sylvester shouted to the approaching marines and city law enforcers. “That’s the pirate, ‘Wild Hare,’ Rowan Monstalk, now which one of you tin stars pays me my bounty money?”

Sylvester Sweet’s afternoon passed far too slowly for his tastes. Usually a sunny day wouldn’t be much of a hindrance, but he spent most of it stuck in his filthy clothes, being interrogated by tin star dogs. They were almost as displeased with the mess as Sylvester himself, but begrudgingly forked over the beli to send him on his way. Finally confident no more marines were watching his every move, Sylvester made his way to his discrete safe house, finally freeing himself of the dirty clothes and swapping into a mustard and white colored outfit.

A brand new cowboy, Sylvester entered into Water 7’s streets in the late afternoon, the sky more orange than blue. He’d even grabbed a brand new rope in case this Viteri person ended up being a handful. After how much coaxing it took just to find her location, there was no telling what kind of resistance the arms dealer herself might put up.

After asking around just a bit, the cowboy found the bar called Blue Flake, its name burned into a wooden plank hanging above a bulky man covered in quite a few tattoos. His appearance was a bit disappointing. Tattoos were surely a way to embellish one’s desired aesthetic, but this bouncer’s collection was too wildly varied and disappointingly monochromatic. Now the permanent ink seemed to do little more than waste a tall, athletic canvas of a man, who stretched out a muscular arm to halt Sylvester’s progress.

“Looking to lose that there arm, partner?” Sylvester asked, turning his gaze to the bouncer’s dark eyes. “I’m here to see Ms. Viteri. You trying to lose her my business?”

At that name, the man’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “You don’t quite look like what I expected,” the man said, “But, I suppose you rebels gotta wear some kind of disguise. You’re early, but you’re free to go on in.” His permission granted, the arm moved away from Sylvester’s path, and he opened the heavy wooden doors.

The cowboy’s entered the bar to find it completely empty, save for a card game going on across the room. Four hands had been dealt, but there were only three players. One man bore a striking resemblance to the bouncer, though he lacked the ink. Another was a lanky, tall, pale skinned figure, who struggled to sit comfortably on the wooden chair. The third of them was an anglerfish Fishman, and looked the most angry, whether at the card he just drew or at Sylvester’s entrance, the cowboy couldn’t tell. The door shut behind Sylvester, and the noise summoned a small woman from the kitchen.

“You’re certainly not on time,” the woman spoke, in a light, carefree voice. “What did the old man say to the pirate king on the fifth monday of the year?”

The temperature suddenly leapt up to sweltering heights. Despite the heat, Sylvester found himself frozen. He’d never considered there might be a password. Damn that bunny rabbit on the docks.

Sylvester Sweet was deep in enemy territory, with time to answer this question running short. The only sensible conclusion he could come to in the time frame was to trust what the pirate had said. If he didn’t mention a password, then perhaps Perla Viteri was merely posing a question to trick potential frauds into revealing themselves. Even if he was wrong, at least he wouldn’t look stupid getting caught up in a lie.

“I didn’t come for riddles,” the cowboy replied, “I came for my product.” Clearly this woman assumed Sylvester was someone else. He might as well keep it as vague as possible to avoid any further suspicion. If his bluff worked out, he could fly under the woman’s radar.

Perla Viteri smiled at that answer. “I apologize, but, I’m sure you can understand a need for caution,” she remarked warmly. The cowboy’s trick had played to his favor. The woman waved him towards the kitchen in the back, then suddenly paused to say, “I’m sure you have the beli, don’t you?”

Sylvester played the part of a frustrated customer, at having been delayed so thoroughly, but pulled a large envelope from his jacket pocket, setting it down on the bar. Most of the money was made up of the bounty reward from Rowan Monstalk, mixed in a bit with bills from his own.

“Perfect,” Perla said, “my associate will count it out. Let’s look over your goodies,” and she led her customer towards the kitchen. In the brightly lit room, there were well over a dozen swords, guns and sacks of indiscriminate products. But, it was all ignored for the grand prize at the center of the room, the barrels of Fairy Black, just like on the flagship of the Stick and Carrot Pirates. His investigation had reached its conclusion.

He walked over to the barrels, running a hand along the tops of each one, as he stood between the potent weapon and the kitchen appliances. The relief he felt at finally having control over the dangerous product was indescribable. He didn’t need to act as if he was a revolutionary excited to find these goods, this emotion was genuine for him. But, it was no time for celebration.

Sylvester picked up a rifle behind him, examining the gun and looking down its sights as if deeply contemplating its integrity. As he did, he said, “I’m not going to open these barrels to find them filled with sand, am I?”

Perla looked shocked at the insinuation. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“I apologize, but I’m sure you can understand a need for caution.”

At that response, the woman was helpless but to oblige her very own words. She held open the kitchen door, “Get your ass over here, Wily. Bring a crowbar, our customer needs to be sure of our integrity as businesspeople.”

She looked back from the bar into the kitchen, seeing Sylvester empty-handed, his attention back on the barrels of Fairy Black.

Wily, who turned out to be the tall man from the poker table arrived with a crowbar that looked like a plaything in his large hands. He opened one of the barrels as easily as Sylvester could open a bottle. The black wood popped off of the barrel, Sylvester looked inside to find exactly what he’d been promised. Glancing up from the mass of grainy, black powder, he noticed Wily whispering something to his boss before returning to the bar.

“Well, how about that,” Sylvester said. “I sure am glad to know I haven’t been wasting my time.”

Sylvester Sweet walked towards Perla Viteri with an outstretched hand. “I think we have ourselves a deal here,” he said with a smile, then, more honestly, “I’d love nothing more than to take these goodies off your hands, miss Viteri.” The sooner Sylvester could escape the kitchen, and Blue Flake altogether, the better it’d be for him, for more than a few reasons. On the off chance the real revolutionary showed up while the cowboy was still there, this situation would quickly turn into a hot mess. Besides, Sylvester wanted to be sure he escaped before the food he started cooking was ready. 

Perla met the cowboy’s hand. “Why don’t we negotiate our final price over a drink, then,” she offered. Not waiting for answer, she led him by the hand out into the tavern, where four armed men were waiting for the pair. Before Sylvester could register the setting, she broke off from the pirate and escaped the line of fire. This jig was up, if the smirk on Perla’s face was any indication. “Unfortunately for you,” she said. “I like to keep in contact with all my clientele. And, I’m sure you can imagine my heartbreak when I heard about poor, Rowan Monstalk.”

Sylvester sharply exhaled. Before she mentioned that, he didn’t believe he could’ve been more disappointed with his performance at the docks earlier that day. This was just about the worst eventuality he could’ve fallen into. Even without the guns trained on him, taking on this squadron of bruisers didn’t seem like it would’ve been the easiest task. Now, it was just downright impossible. At this rate, his work in the kitchen might be nothing more than a massive backfire.
With no guard posted at the door, however, an off chance strolled on through, with a heavily cloaked figure entering into the Blue Flake bar, catching the attention of Perla Viteri. 

“And, just who are you supposed to be?” she asked viciously. 

Sylvester already knew who he was, which is why he was able to seize the opportunity of the revolutionary's arrival, and begin to turn disaster into opportunity. “Get out of here!” he yelled the man, startling him, “Get out! They’re already onto us, don’t let them catch you too!”

Perla caught onto what she thought was the truth and jerked her finger towards the guest in the cloak, who was stammering to explain himself. “Wily! Rakka! Get him too! They’re working together!”

The tall man and the one with heavy tattoos turned about-face, finally frightening the stranger enough to get him sprinting out of the tavern, two gunman hot on his tail. From behind Sylvester a loud gunshot went off, earning a flinch out of the cowboy, immediately followed by a satisfied grin. “Question about your rifles in there,” Sylvester asked, “how many rounds do those suckers carry exactly?”

Another gunshot rang out from the kitchen, and Perla’s eyes went wide with understanding. Sylvester Sweet had planted the rifle into the oven and blasted the heat in the moment she had looked away. Now, her own weapon was shooting into a small room full of volatile goods and explosives. 

“Locka, get in there,” she ordered, “turn off the oven and get the gun out of there, now!” The man who looked similarly to the bouncer with the tattoos ran into the kitchen. The gunshots were increasing in pace very quickly, the heat clearly pushing the gun to fire more rapidly. The moment Locka complied with the order, Sylvester made a move against the last gunman, swiftly rushing the fishman, and throwing an elbow against his jaw, followed by a harsh knee planted into the guy’s gut. 

The fishman was clenching his chest, doubled over in pain on the ground, leaving just Perla and Sylvester in the bar. He pointed his own, reliable sidearm towards the woman, having successfully turned the tables against her. “If you’d be so kind, Ms. Viteri,” Sylvester said, “I’d appreciate it if we could hammer out a new deal.”

Sylvester Sweet tied Perla Viteri to a chair in the bar, keeping an eye out for any funny movements from the fishman, or from Locka in the kitchen. Before any of the three could make a move against him, he back away from his captor, and looked about the bar. It was a shame he’d have to leave it as it was, but there wasn’t much time to take any further action. Sylvester walked towards the door, but was stopped by a gunshot and a bloodcurdling scream from the kitchen. It seemed Locka had been shot by Sylvester’s oven-baked rifle. 

The cowboy opened the entrance to Blue Flake, checking for Wily or Rakka, but didn’t see either. He still had a bit of time. Sylvester pointed his revolver at the downed fishman, and began to explain his deal. “You still keep in contact with your customers?” Sylvester asked, but didn’t wait for answer before continuing. “If you give me your contact list, I won’t put your friend down.”

“How do you know he’s my friend?” she asked, but cowered at the cowboy pulling back the gun’s hammer. “I’m surprised you’re still here,” she said. “You know rebels aren’t my only customers, right? I’ve got associates in the World Government. They won’t look upon your interference very fondly. If you’re smart, you’d get out of here right now. Get out of this bar, get off this island, hell, I’d even get off of the Grand Line!”

“As much as I’d love a home cooked meal right about now,” Sylvester said, “I’ve got far too much unfinished business to make a visit back home. Now, give me your contacts, please. Giving me my money back would be much appreciated as well.”

Perla was hesitant, but the gun pointed at her friend did strike a chord she couldn’t ignore. Hanging her head low, she muttered, “There’s a blue notebook in the cash register. Wily probably put your envelope in there as well.”

Sylvester investigated the brass register to find both things just as she’d described. More gunshots rang out from the kitchen. There was no more need for delay, when one might strike just the wrong way at any point. Taking off his hat, the cowboy gave a gracious, low bow to Perla before making his exit. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

He swung open the door to Blue Flake, and was amazed to discover how quiet the night was outside the old tavern. Looking about him, he saw no trace of the revolutionary or of the two gunmen chasing him, save for a slim briefcase that had been cast aside in the escape. Curious as to what might have been left behind, Sylvester cracked open the brown leather case to find far more beli than what he’d brought. It was no wonder he’d been discovered so easily, his money wasn’t even close to whatever amount they must have agreed upon. Picking up the case, with the notebook and his envelope, he walked along a canal reflecting the moonlight. 

Far behind him, an explosion rang out, no doubt waking up a great many neighbors, but not at all catching Sylvester’s attention. In fact, the foremost concern in the cowboy’s mind was how much he was going to miss that fine specimen of a rope.