"Hrrrg."

As reveille echoed throughout the dawnlit Base, a red haired man in slacks and an undershirt rolled over, discarding himself from his low bunk and flopping unceremoniously to the ground. As a laugh from one of his peers in the fairly small officer's quarters (know for it's slightly fluffier and bug free beds, while also being closer to the lounge) rang out, Pendleton Abernathy sputtered, "You shut up."

Sitting up, a hand rubbing the short hair of his pounding head, fighting itself in hangover, Pen made to dress himself, throwing on a slightly wrinkled blue suit coat to match his slacks and a white tie over a light gray dress shirt, along with a MARINE band on his arm. Scratching at his green eyes, he stumbled along as the officers moved out, Justice coats ruffling as they were slung over shoulders.

In minutes, they were neatly assembled at the head, as the enlisted Marines filed up by division in neat rows. Though next to the officers, already standing stalwart, they were indeed a cut above. (Though as if to challenge that observation, Pen's head lolled a bit as he tried to sneak in some extra Z's)

He snapped up once everyone had assembled, as a cry of "Attention!" rang out throughout the dusty courtyard. Stepping in front of the men of the South Blue Marine Headquarters, a broad man in a silver suit with a blue tie came to a halt facing the rest of the Marines. His head of long orange hair was topped by a Marine cap, while the white Justice coat fanned out behind him.

Rear Admiral Zhuque announced, "Men, at ease!" As Pen loosened his stance, the man began, "The seas around here have quieted too much, so today marks a change in tactics! Divisions are going to be reorganized, and we will be sending out another patrol boat. Assignments will be posted by nine hundred hours. It will also include reassignment for those boarding the ship of Commander Ferghus MacLaomainn of the 120th Blue Branch Base. He will also be bringing in a contingent of civilian workers, who have been contracted to refurbish select areas of the base." There was a murmur of interest, and a few hopefuls making guesses as to what was getting fixed up. This Headquarters was not in the best shape, to be honest. With a nod, Zhuque concluded, "Dismissed."

As the crowd broke up, many going to their daily tasks, or off for a meal at the mess, Pen was hunkering for some solid food as well. Shame he wasn't quite fond of the slop regularly served. Sadly, he prefer dining in the Undertown when he could make it: beyond the walls of the HQ were the Base Town, where families of stationed Marines lived, but further below those cliffs was the impressively slimier Undertown. It wasn't so much a den of criminals as it was a hangout, where folk talk about dealings in quiet or code rather than actively engage in anything unscrupulous. Shame for them, Pen had a good ear. But with that Ferghus set to arrive at any moment now, Pen would just have to settle for the standard grub for today...

"Och, what a lot of trash."

A rather large gruff looking man in marine uniform spouts as he downs the thick and unappealing substance that they call food around here. Sitting just across the way from a junior officer, both in stature and rank. Scratching at his beard in some sort of quizzical notion he speaks again, this time more directed towards the young one unknowingly sitting with him, "I can tell ya feel the same lad, 'ahmean who actually enjoys this drool? Naw us men need real food, meats and strong drinks. Whadya say?" At this point the man was speaking quite boisterously, but that's simply how he gets very often, in all honesty he was wasting time without having to worry about appearing before a gaggle of marines. Hell, he hardly even knew what his mission was going to be, let alone how he would present it. Sometimes this life can be stressful.

Commander Ferghus had it in his mind that he'd use the bit of time that he had to scout out the general populace of this base without alerting to them of his status, as he was newer than most around these parts. But in actuality it was something more akin to enjoying the company of the less disciplined officers. After all, he wasn't as keen on locking up pirates for petty crimes like most of the big wigs, but it isn't his place to say what needs to be done after all.

His general impression of the place was something along the lines of, "This sure is a 'sty" and that was just the way he liked it, perhaps such lax nature was due to his pirate upbringing or maybe he just didn't like the cut of the higher-ups gib. Whatever the case, Ferghus enjoyed the position he held and believes it to be a proud honor, and isn't too keen on rising through the ranks too quickly if it removes that simple feel of gallantry.

The sound surprise him every time: that gritty yet squelchy splat, followed by a strange wobbly sound.

Pen used to be starving, but he wasn't any more. Eyes glazed over as he walked over to an open seat, he set his tray down, still trying to gauge what color his food was and what color it used to be.

Of course, at this hour, the mess hall wasn't exactly packed. Anyone with any smarts had already gotten up early and snuck over to Undertown, or was on their way. Regretting his rare burst of responsible thinking, Pen muttered nonsense quietly, mentally grumbling, I can't eat this: you'd have to be drunk or dying. Actually I'd still probably turn my nose up then.

"I can tell ya feel the same lad, 'ahmean who actually enjoys this drool? Naw us men need real food, meats and strong drinks. Whadya say?"

Pen blinked for a moment, looking up at the large man who's stature didn't quite match his rank and file uniform. Actually Pen was 90% sure there was a 0% chance he saw this guy before, and he wasn't any good at math. Discarding that information, he glanced down at his food again, stomach turning. Gritting his teeth, he shoved it aside, agreeing, "Yeah, screw responsibility! I know a place, you see. Name's Pen, by the way."

Sure, Commander Ferghus could arrive at any time, but unless he had some awesome cooks, Pen wasn't exactly in the mood to be jumping on his vessel.

Standing, Pen adjusted his suit coat, grinning, "You aren't afraid of Undertown, are you?" Not like anyone has reason to be, all bark and no bite...

"Ha! Afraid? Naw, I eat pansy place like that fer breakfast!"

Ferghus bellowed, laughing heartily along the way. And surely while the statement such bravado could easily be true, the heavily muscled marine had honestly never been in much of this island, let alone this 'Undertown' Well, whatever it was, he was absolutely sure he could handle it. After all, if such a spindly guy like his new acquaintance wasn't afraid, then why should he be?

Slamming a fist down upon the mess hall table the commander exclaimed almost a bit too loudly, "Agreed, we all need a bit of leisure time after all!" With that the man rose abruptly and gestured for Pen to show him the way.

Immediately Ferghus could tell that the two were severely lacking in discipline, and wasn't all that alarmed by it. One thing was for sure though, if the commander ever wished to receive missions of much higher status, he would have to work to reform not only himself, but the men that would be serving under him.

And thus the two were off, an ironic partner in the young recruit's screwing of responsibilities.

Leading the way, Pen headed out of the Mess, tramping across dusty grounds to reach the edge of the HQ, moving beyond the walls to the Town. As they walked through, Pen's eyes watched as folk, women and children more often than not, mulled about in the early morning. The walking pair got the occasional smile, as Marine uniforms tended to receive in a town of those related to them, but at the same time, a few conspicuously looked away from the gruff duo. Pen didn't pay it much mind though: no point in fooling around with these people, as they were always 'well, my ____ is a Marine too!' Yeah, no shit.

Moving past the edge of the Base Town, the two went down yet another path, flanked by a poorly kept fence. At its end, a staircase built into the cliffside wound downwards, overlooking the shadowy buildings below, a port visible in the distance, many of the ships unmarked. As they began to head down, Pen scoffed, "Can you believe this is still Headquarters?"

After a steep trek to the bottom, the two were in Undertown proper. Now those mulling about were largely men, in various states between Marine and sour sea dog. Some even had tattoos or other markings of affiliation, poorly hidden, if they bothered at all.

Stepping around a few buildings, Pen knew the exact path he was taking. Turning one corner, however, a voice he heard made him come to a stop, glancing around.

"-this wave pattern? Did I ask for this wave pattern!? No, you're screwing around with me, aren't you!"

Sidling to the nearest corner, Pen watched as a Marine, holding a katana with a brightly colored sheath, shaking it as he raged at the blacksmith, who seemed a bit tired of the Marine's crap. Eyes wandering, Pen saw yet another sword lying on a barrel just behind the Marine.

Grinning mischievously, Pen suggested, "Well, that's not right. A Marine not giving business to our Marine contracted smiths? Well, he can keep his new blade, but that other one is Marine property!"

Letting that proclamation hang in the air, Pen shuffled forwards, moving to approach the Marine from the other side, leaving the sword on the barrel in the clear.

Tagging along with his junior officer Ferghus had pondered about whether or not Pen already knew who the man was. No, surely an upstanding marine wouldn't go out of their way to say something like 'screw responsibility' to their superior. Not that commander had particularly cared about the remark. Maybe the boy had simply been free with his thoughts and open, or maybe --

"Can you believe this is still Headquarters?"

His thought interrupted, as they had often been, barely looking out upon the harbor. A much different scene to be sure, the Undertown as it appeared from above looked to be a regular pirate cove. But of course, that was not the case with a marine headquarters just a short distance away.

"Naw, its a whole 'nother world." Ferghus remarked as the duo passed numerous unsavory folk. As well as many a shadowy buidling, of course it wasn't all that unsettling, sure he'd never been around these parts, yet as Pen had said, 'All bark and no bite'

Eventually the young marine stopped in his tracks, in which Ferghus mimed shortly after. The sounds of an argument were all too clear, a rather one sided one at that. Sensing quite a bit of trickery in Pen's voice, the commander placed a hand upon his shoulder just as he shuffled about.

"Whataya doin' boyo? Ya can't just walk up and take something like yer doin', ya gotta be direct with people like that!" At which point Ferghus had been speaking rather boisterously, alerting the furious marine to the two's presence. To which the senior officer smiled and waved ever so harmlessly.

Midstep, Pen was forced to a halt, leg trying to get ground as a hand on his shoulder kept him back. "H-hey. What?" The larger Marine explained himself loudly, making Pen exclaim, "Wait, what!?"

From ahead, the Marine turned his gaze, spotting the two. Overly long silver hair flipping a bit, he stomped over, nabbing his other sword en route. He wore a white vest with blue pants and a gray coat wrapped around his waist. "Pendleton! To what do I owe the displeasure?"

Gritting his teeth at Lieutenant Junior Grade Janiel, Pen hissed, "Huh? I was just checking to see why they put a dump in the middle of town, but it was just you."

"Oh, that's the best you've got? Why should I bother with the likes of you?"

"Why shouldeth I bother with the likes of youeth?" Pen repeated in a screechier voice.

Eye twitching, Janiel scoffed, "I'm not dealing with you today." Turning back to the blacksmith, he slammed down a few big bills before taking both swords, leaving only the eyes watching the scene.

Pen grumbled, "Stupid money having..." Loosening up a bit,he slipped his hands into his pockets, slouching as he grumbled, "Let's go get some food."

A few minutes of travel through the dusty town later, Pen cracked open the swinging doors to a slightly dingier than usual looking place. Voices became hushed for a moment as the Marines began to enter, but while they weren't the only ones, most here seemed to be huddled in groups of at least two, speaking in hushed tones once the Marines made their way in.

"Don't get the eggs, you'll be in bed for a week. Unless you want to be in bed for a week: they're reliable like that."

It was clear that the young Pen did not quite understand Ferghus's direct ways. Sure it wasn't quite the standard for the way things are done in these parts but the 'undercover' commander couldn't help it. His honesty was almost to a fault, somewhat of a flaw seen by many, but surely there are those who appreciate a man that is not subversive in the slightest.

Oh good! They know each other. Ferghus had thought to himself, was it foolish to stop the junior marine before he had even fully understood his motives? No, absolutely not. The commander looked on as the two went back in forth for a bit. He couldn't help but feel a tiny bit embarrassed, the men in this head quarters would likely become the man's subordinates after all. Well, he resolved that he'd simply have to help them learn the ways of being a man!

Shaken back to reality after being lost in his thoughts of grandeur, the commander mumbled something along the lines of an agreement to find something to fill his stomach, not like that slop they serve back at HQ.

And into the throngs of a run down shack the pair went. Eyes all about, Ferghus was sure to look his most imposing, especially to other huddled groups of marines here and there. The two sat down at an empty rounded table of some almost rotted wood. Now this is a shit hole Ferghus couldn't help but feel at home despite the thought.

After contemplating getting the eggs from Pen's suggestion, he could use another vacation after all, he decided against it and with gusto demanded, "A bowl of fresh beef stew! And add some potatoes in there as well!" A hearty meal for a hearty man.

"Not a bad choice," Pen admitted, before calling, "Salmon!" Leaning back, he shrugged, "You'd think the fish'd be crap too but they seem to know what they're doing with that."

As the wait for food began, Pen kept his ear out, keeping quiet as the various conversations began to creepy up again. Leaning closer to his comrade in blue, Pen began, "The grub's good, but I come here for another reason. Believe it or not, I am a Marine, after all."

After some minutes passed, a homely serving woman arrived with a bowl of stew and a plate of fish, clattering silverware down without so much as a nod. Letting it slid, Pen grabbed his fork, jabbing it lightly towards a nearby table.

Two men in bandanas, tattoos covered, spoke: "If your big eagle can accept no more than a silver, his worm will be where he left it."

Scooping up a bit of his fish, Pen nodded, mentioning quietly, "Looks like someone took something of value and is ransoming it back..."

Glancing over to a table on the other side, he heard, "It's true that the rat and the weasel can defeat the snake, but what of the seagull?"

Pen huffed, "Psh, a pirate alliance? Won't last long..."

Another one, at the table just behind Pen, "When the ants reach, the bird's shell shall fall."

Pen froze up a bit, before digging in for another bite of fish, trying to act natural. Swallowing, he whispered, "H-huh? They're going after a Marine Base...somehow..." Trying to ignore his slight increase of sweat, he stuffed more food in his mouth, as if ignoring it.

After taking in Pan's food choice for consideration, you could tell a lot a bout a man through the food they eat, or so Ferghus thought. And deeming him a fine marine through his own perspective, not likely shared with many others. In fact, the young man may be even superior to the commander himself, as all of these codes meant jack to Ferghus.

Spooning globs of broth, meat, and potato into his gaping maw the broad man nodded consistently, attempting to feign knowledge. After all, he didn't wish for any chance of his cover to be blown. Not that it'd be of much consequence anyway.

Of course his demeanor perked up after Pan's last translation, pirates going after a marine base? They must have some heavy fire power, or maybe they're just dumb, or maybe the young marine isn't all that good as he says.

Not wishing to take any threat lightly, he held his position high after all, Ferghus spoke softly, his mouth still gnashing away at delicious meat, "Hear anything else? Any specific details lad?"

Face a bit incredulous, Pen muttered, "Maybe not attack, hmm..."

Leaning in, he began in hushed tones, "They said 'When the ants reach, the bird's shell shall fall' and now they're going on about where they're going to go after. Back to the message though: 'Birds' and 'gulls' are Marines. 'Shell' is definitely base, fortress, something in that vein. But where, and what are 'ants'?"

Leaning back, Pen continued to think, ear hovering by the conversation. Grabbing his fork, he took another bite and...maybe it was because the salmon was brain food, restarting gears long since unturned, but Pen whispered, "Wait...if they never mentioned where then...I think it's going to be here. You know what kind of boats are coming in today?"

Looking over the large man again, Pen shook his head, "Nah, you wouldn't know." Caressing his forehead, Pen admitted, "The brass doesn't like us getting info from down here...not that many know how. Usually I 'accidentally' end up near where something's going down if I can but...shit, not sure what to do here."

Leaning back in his seat, arms folded behind his head, he sighed, "Maybe it's best not to bother..."