Island Rubeck Island
- Thread starter Larsi
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Rubeck Island #3
@Hiei @Marin
Bonanno Territory | Dockside Watchtower, 2nd Floor Office
The room reeked of smoke, sea brine, and old meat. Cracked windows let in the red sunlight and a whine of distant gulls as Sonny Bonanno leaned back in his dented office chair, nursing a tumbler of rum and chewing a burnt cigar stub like it owed him money. Below, the docks bustled with controlled chaos—crates moving, deals whispered, men stationed like termites with guns.
He was halfway through a chuckle at some crude joke when Vincent Mancini, his lieutenant and fixer, burst in without knocking.
Vincent was always slick—hair combed back, jacket never wrinkled, not even in the furnace that passed for Rubeck weather. But right now? He looked like he'd just stared down a ghost.
“Boss. We got movement. Serious kind.”
Sonny grunted. “You always got movement, Vin. It’s a dock, not a damn monastery.”
VIncent didn’t smile. “Four of ’em. Just walked off the Phantom line ferry like they owned the place. Two men, one woman, and… a sheep mink. White wool, soft eyes, real calm. Kinda unsettling.”
Sonny raised an eyebrow. “The hell kind of circus act are we talking about here?”
“Not a circus. A funeral march. Names came in from Whispers. Devil Pirates. Major. Ranger. Artorias. And the mink’s called Marin.”
The cigar dropped from Sonny’s mouth and hissed against the desk. “...The Devil Pirates? Here? In my goddamn city?”
“Yeah.” Vincent's voice lowered. “And Major… said something. One of our ears caught it through a sound-sweeper. She’s going in solo. Intel op. The others are here to stir the pot. They’re hunting, boss.”
For a long moment, Sonny didn’t say a word. His eye's made their way towards the black paper encased letter, tucked safely beside the tray of devil fruit cores. The sound of cranes screeching outside filled the silence. Then he laughed—low, mean, and bitter.
“So Lucifer wants to knock. Cute. Should’ve stayed out at sea.” He rose, cracked his knuckles. “Alright, Vin. Pull everyone off the payroll boys and bring in the real ones—the dogs. Tell Griggs to lock down the southern warehouses. I want the Luccheses to feel the tremor, but not see the smoke.”
“You think they’re here for a hit?”
“Does it matter?” Sonny barked, already grabbing the shotgun from behind the door. “They walked into my house, breathing like kings and queens. Now we remind them whose city this is. You hear me, Vin? I want eyes on every alley, every shadow. And if you see that freak with the eyes—Artorias—don’t engage. Just watch. We bleed ‘em smart, not loud.”
Vincent nodded. “And the mink girl? She didn’t look like a killer.”
Sonny snorted. “That's the point, Vin. Nothing in this city is what it looks like. If she’s with them, then she’s wool hiding a blade. We don’t underestimate soft eyes here—we cage ‘em.”
He stepped to the window and stared out toward the docks, jaw clenched.
“The Devil picked the wrong hell."
@Hiei @Marin
Bonanno Territory | Dockside Watchtower, 2nd Floor Office
The room reeked of smoke, sea brine, and old meat. Cracked windows let in the red sunlight and a whine of distant gulls as Sonny Bonanno leaned back in his dented office chair, nursing a tumbler of rum and chewing a burnt cigar stub like it owed him money. Below, the docks bustled with controlled chaos—crates moving, deals whispered, men stationed like termites with guns.
He was halfway through a chuckle at some crude joke when Vincent Mancini, his lieutenant and fixer, burst in without knocking.
Vincent was always slick—hair combed back, jacket never wrinkled, not even in the furnace that passed for Rubeck weather. But right now? He looked like he'd just stared down a ghost.
“Boss. We got movement. Serious kind.”
Sonny grunted. “You always got movement, Vin. It’s a dock, not a damn monastery.”
VIncent didn’t smile. “Four of ’em. Just walked off the Phantom line ferry like they owned the place. Two men, one woman, and… a sheep mink. White wool, soft eyes, real calm. Kinda unsettling.”
Sonny raised an eyebrow. “The hell kind of circus act are we talking about here?”
“Not a circus. A funeral march. Names came in from Whispers. Devil Pirates. Major. Ranger. Artorias. And the mink’s called Marin.”
The cigar dropped from Sonny’s mouth and hissed against the desk. “...The Devil Pirates? Here? In my goddamn city?”
“Yeah.” Vincent's voice lowered. “And Major… said something. One of our ears caught it through a sound-sweeper. She’s going in solo. Intel op. The others are here to stir the pot. They’re hunting, boss.”
For a long moment, Sonny didn’t say a word. His eye's made their way towards the black paper encased letter, tucked safely beside the tray of devil fruit cores. The sound of cranes screeching outside filled the silence. Then he laughed—low, mean, and bitter.
“So Lucifer wants to knock. Cute. Should’ve stayed out at sea.” He rose, cracked his knuckles. “Alright, Vin. Pull everyone off the payroll boys and bring in the real ones—the dogs. Tell Griggs to lock down the southern warehouses. I want the Luccheses to feel the tremor, but not see the smoke.”
“You think they’re here for a hit?”
“Does it matter?” Sonny barked, already grabbing the shotgun from behind the door. “They walked into my house, breathing like kings and queens. Now we remind them whose city this is. You hear me, Vin? I want eyes on every alley, every shadow. And if you see that freak with the eyes—Artorias—don’t engage. Just watch. We bleed ‘em smart, not loud.”
Vincent nodded. “And the mink girl? She didn’t look like a killer.”
Sonny snorted. “That's the point, Vin. Nothing in this city is what it looks like. If she’s with them, then she’s wool hiding a blade. We don’t underestimate soft eyes here—we cage ‘em.”
He stepped to the window and stared out toward the docks, jaw clenched.
“The Devil picked the wrong hell."
- Messages
- 10,654
- Reaction score
- 37,440
- Points
- 29,000
- Salty Doubloons
- 206
[RUBECK ISLAND]
Major vanished into the shadows the moment her boots hit the cobbled edge of the dock. She moved like vapor, unseen yet present, her figure slipping between narrow alleys and blind corners as if she had rehearsed this street before. Her visor glinted faintly as she scanned the layout ahead. The estate—tall, brooding, and nestled in the heart of the Bonanno territory—sat elevated behind thick iron gates and weather-worn stone, overlooking the port like a predator watching prey. She paused beneath the cover of a flickering streetlamp, eyes locked on the sprawling mansion. Subtle security patterns—rotating guards, fixed patrol paths—were already imprinting into her mental overlay.
“Target location confirmed,” Major murmured over the comms. “Bonanno estate has visual on dockside movements. Recommend swift suppression before second rotation hits the overlook. I’m heading deeper—looping around to breach the northside security grid.”
There was no hesitation in her tone. Strategy was her battlefield, and she had already begun to disassemble the operation from within.
Ranger strode at a far more casual pace through the loading area, his steps deliberate, his demeanor disarming. He passed by dockworkers with a nod and a smile so convincing, it made one forget how deadly he actually was. His long blond hair shifted with the breeze, and his sharp elven features were relaxed, as if this were a morning stroll rather than the onset of a precision assault.
When Marin joined his side with a sigh, asking about her role, he chuckled softly, though it carried a hint of condescension—as though he already knew the ending to a play she was still reading.
“Your role?” Ranger replied, resting his hand loosely on the hilt of his blade. “You’re the unpredictable element. They’ll expect muscle, fear tactics, maybe a few flashy distractions. But they won’t expect finesse from a face like yours.” He glanced down at her briefly, his tone softening. “That’s your edge. The key to a flawless con is letting them think they know the rules.”
He adjusted the strap of his quiver, eyes lifting toward the towering Bonanno estate now coming into view through the clustered rooftops.
“We’re after their records, ledgers, key alliances. Everything that keeps this machine running. And if it comes to chaos…” He smirked. “We’ll let Artorias play conductor.”
Artorias had said nothing. He stood slightly behind them, looming in silence, the weight of his greatsword dragging shadows around his armored form like a cloak. His helmet tilted slowly toward the mansion ahead, as if the scent of corruption stained the air like rot. Then, without a word, he exhaled—long, low, almost like a growl.
“…Their bones will speak truth when their tongues lie,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse, the accent of a knight long forgotten in civilized halls.
A harsh scrape of steel echoed as he shifted his blade, heavy and uncaring, like a force of nature barely restrained.
Ranger, without turning, added dryly, “Easy, old wolf. Wait for the curtain call.”
The silence that followed was tense, but it was shared understanding. Major infiltrated. Ranger adapted. And Artorias would unleash.
They moved in tandem, the city unaware of the storm now threading through its veins.
- Messages
- 61
- Reaction score
- 114
- Points
- 400
- Salty Doubloons
- 121
Marin continued to follow Ranger close by to cover in case any of the un-welcoming committee show up. "I'll be ready when you give the word. No one will expect me to be able to defend myself. Minks have a natural ability unique to them called Electro. Must be because of the static build up in our fur. Another ability is the Sulong form. This form is only unlocked during a visible full moon. Our eyes turn red, and our fur grows out. Once the full moon is hidden by the clouds or entering a building that we cannot see the full moon, we lose that power and return back to our base form. I am planning to develop new defense attacks with my Ram Fu. Mostly kicks, punches, and maybe head butting."
She waits for the signal to begin her part of the plan. "I have a knapsack to store the items you want from this mission. Once secure and away on our ship, we can give them to the captain to examine."
She waits for the signal to begin her part of the plan. "I have a knapsack to store the items you want from this mission. Once secure and away on our ship, we can give them to the captain to examine."
- Messages
- 4,004
- Reaction score
- 8,904
- Points
- 10,900
- Salty Doubloons
- 209
Rubeck Island #4
@Hiei @Marin
Bonanno Territory | Dockside Watchtower, 2nd Floor Office
The rum was still in Sonny Bonanno’s hand, but it wasn’t getting any sweeter. He stared out the cracked window, chewing the end of a cold cigar, his eyes tracking every crane, every movement along the docks like a predator surveying his kill pen.
“They’re digging further in,” Vincent said from the side, voice low, steady.
“You sure?” Sonny muttered.
Vincent nodded. "The one called Major’s already disappeared into the alley grid. The rest are spreading tension just by breathing.”
Sonny didn’t reply. He turned slowly, set his rum glass down, and picked up the black-sealed letter that still sat untouched beside a dish of devil fruit cores. Lucifer's name was scorched into the wax. It had been days since it arrived. He hadn’t opened it.
He didn’t need to.
Sonny’s voice dropped into gravel. “Prep the killbox.”
He started listing without hesitation. “I want Snaps and his boys at Wharf Eighteen—no red bandanas, plainclothes only. Tell Ruby Griggs to pull the twins and run silent recon around the alley rings near Market Row. Nothing flashy, nothing stupid.”
“Got it.”
“Griggs and the pit crew?” Sonny asked.
“Already on lockdown duty. They’re wiring the southern warehouse roofs, like you said.”
“Good. I want ‘em loaded and scoped. No sound, no smoke. If they so much as breathe funny, I want a full breakdown before a bullet flies.”
Vincent hesitated. “And if they come at us first?”
“Then we don’t blink. We bleed ‘em on our terms. Quiet. Controlled. No message, no drama. Just... gone.” Sonny’s gaze drifted to the window again, to the sun bleeding red over Rubeck’s skyline.
“Devils think they can walk through fire without getting burned.” He reached for his shotgun, checked the chamber, then rested it over his shoulder.
Vincent smirked. “We’ll be ready, Boss.”
As he left, the door creaked shut behind him. Sonny remained still, watching the city smolder below.
The Devil Pirates hadn’t made a move yet.
But neither had he.
And when the storm breaks, it’s the quiet that kills first.
-------------------
Rubeck Heights | Lucchese Safehouse, Rooftop Level
Rain hadn’t touched this part of the city in weeks, but the rooftop garden of the Lucchese estate was lush and green. Artificial. Controlled. Every petal manicured. Every vine trimmed with surgical care. Just like the family that lived beneath it.
Inside the rooftop glasshouse, Tom Lucchese stirred a cup of tea with a sterling spoon, the gentle clink the only sound besides the soft hum of surveillance monitors in the walls around him.
His consigliere, Salvatore Tessio, approached with a quiet urgency in his polished steps, his gloves freshly stained with ink.
“They’re here.”
Tom didn’t look up. “The Devils?”
Salvatore nodded. “Confirmed. Our little birds tracked them off the Phantom Line ferry. Four of them. Major vanished quickly. Ranger and the mink—Marin—were seen pacing the edge of Bonanno turf. The knight—Artorias—is… difficult to track.”
Tom smiled faintly, as if amused by a riddle. “Of course he is.”
He sipped his tea, eyes still on the monitors. Drones—tiny, insect-like things—buzzed in silence across the screen. Each camera perched like a spider in the dark. Watching. Waiting.
“Have they made contact?” he asked.
“Not yet. Bonannos are tightening up, quietly. They're expecting a war.”
He shook his head, setting the cup down with a click. “That’s where they always fail. They think force answers every knock.”
He stood, walking toward a whiteboard of photos and names—a spiderweb of Rubeck’s underworld. Red strings stretched from port officials to politicians, to hitmen, to laundromats.
“They want to break us. That’s what this is. Not a hit. Not a raid. Dissection. Psychological. Surgical.”
Salvatore raised an eyebrow. “So what’s our play?”
Tom turned, and in that moment his smile was cold marble.
“We study them. Peel their minds before we touch their flesh. Feed them false whispers. Let them chase shadows into dead ends and alley mouths with no exit. I want their faith in each other to crack before a single blade is drawn.”
He walked toward the edge of the garden, overlooking the city like a chessboard below.
“Deploy our Rooks. Quietly. Eyes only. Do not engage. Start inserting misinformation through the Market Row gossip lines—tell the Bonannos their southern warehouse was already compromised. Watch what they do. Watch how the Devils react. Give them just enough rope to question their own playbook.”
Salvatore gave a soft chuckle. “And when they trip?”
Tom’s gaze sharpened. “We tighten the noose.”
He turned to the screens again, watching as a faint blur—Major, perhaps—slipped through the alley haze like a whisper.
“The Bonannos want blood,” he murmured. “But we want silence. When the Devil Pirates fall… it’ll be without a scream.”
@Hiei @Marin
Bonanno Territory | Dockside Watchtower, 2nd Floor Office
The rum was still in Sonny Bonanno’s hand, but it wasn’t getting any sweeter. He stared out the cracked window, chewing the end of a cold cigar, his eyes tracking every crane, every movement along the docks like a predator surveying his kill pen.
“They’re digging further in,” Vincent said from the side, voice low, steady.
“You sure?” Sonny muttered.
Vincent nodded. "The one called Major’s already disappeared into the alley grid. The rest are spreading tension just by breathing.”
Sonny didn’t reply. He turned slowly, set his rum glass down, and picked up the black-sealed letter that still sat untouched beside a dish of devil fruit cores. Lucifer's name was scorched into the wax. It had been days since it arrived. He hadn’t opened it.
He didn’t need to.
Sonny’s voice dropped into gravel. “Prep the killbox.”
He started listing without hesitation. “I want Snaps and his boys at Wharf Eighteen—no red bandanas, plainclothes only. Tell Ruby Griggs to pull the twins and run silent recon around the alley rings near Market Row. Nothing flashy, nothing stupid.”
“Got it.”
“Griggs and the pit crew?” Sonny asked.
“Already on lockdown duty. They’re wiring the southern warehouse roofs, like you said.”
“Good. I want ‘em loaded and scoped. No sound, no smoke. If they so much as breathe funny, I want a full breakdown before a bullet flies.”
Vincent hesitated. “And if they come at us first?”
“Then we don’t blink. We bleed ‘em on our terms. Quiet. Controlled. No message, no drama. Just... gone.” Sonny’s gaze drifted to the window again, to the sun bleeding red over Rubeck’s skyline.
“Devils think they can walk through fire without getting burned.” He reached for his shotgun, checked the chamber, then rested it over his shoulder.
Vincent smirked. “We’ll be ready, Boss.”
As he left, the door creaked shut behind him. Sonny remained still, watching the city smolder below.
The Devil Pirates hadn’t made a move yet.
But neither had he.
And when the storm breaks, it’s the quiet that kills first.
-------------------
Rubeck Heights | Lucchese Safehouse, Rooftop Level
Rain hadn’t touched this part of the city in weeks, but the rooftop garden of the Lucchese estate was lush and green. Artificial. Controlled. Every petal manicured. Every vine trimmed with surgical care. Just like the family that lived beneath it.
Inside the rooftop glasshouse, Tom Lucchese stirred a cup of tea with a sterling spoon, the gentle clink the only sound besides the soft hum of surveillance monitors in the walls around him.
His consigliere, Salvatore Tessio, approached with a quiet urgency in his polished steps, his gloves freshly stained with ink.
“They’re here.”
Tom didn’t look up. “The Devils?”
Salvatore nodded. “Confirmed. Our little birds tracked them off the Phantom Line ferry. Four of them. Major vanished quickly. Ranger and the mink—Marin—were seen pacing the edge of Bonanno turf. The knight—Artorias—is… difficult to track.”
Tom smiled faintly, as if amused by a riddle. “Of course he is.”
He sipped his tea, eyes still on the monitors. Drones—tiny, insect-like things—buzzed in silence across the screen. Each camera perched like a spider in the dark. Watching. Waiting.
“Have they made contact?” he asked.
“Not yet. Bonannos are tightening up, quietly. They're expecting a war.”
He shook his head, setting the cup down with a click. “That’s where they always fail. They think force answers every knock.”
He stood, walking toward a whiteboard of photos and names—a spiderweb of Rubeck’s underworld. Red strings stretched from port officials to politicians, to hitmen, to laundromats.
“They want to break us. That’s what this is. Not a hit. Not a raid. Dissection. Psychological. Surgical.”
Salvatore raised an eyebrow. “So what’s our play?”
Tom turned, and in that moment his smile was cold marble.
“We study them. Peel their minds before we touch their flesh. Feed them false whispers. Let them chase shadows into dead ends and alley mouths with no exit. I want their faith in each other to crack before a single blade is drawn.”
He walked toward the edge of the garden, overlooking the city like a chessboard below.
“Deploy our Rooks. Quietly. Eyes only. Do not engage. Start inserting misinformation through the Market Row gossip lines—tell the Bonannos their southern warehouse was already compromised. Watch what they do. Watch how the Devils react. Give them just enough rope to question their own playbook.”
Salvatore gave a soft chuckle. “And when they trip?”
Tom’s gaze sharpened. “We tighten the noose.”
He turned to the screens again, watching as a faint blur—Major, perhaps—slipped through the alley haze like a whisper.
“The Bonannos want blood,” he murmured. “But we want silence. When the Devil Pirates fall… it’ll be without a scream.”
- Messages
- 61
- Reaction score
- 114
- Points
- 400
- Salty Doubloons
- 121
Marin was on the ship belonging to the pirate crew called the Devil Tides pirates. As a new recruit, she hadn't met too many of the crew members yet or if there were any female members. She hoped that her mink powers would help her with whatever business on this island this crew had. With Shepard's crook in hand, she approached the person whom she thought was in charge of the operation.
"Marin Baan reporting for duty, Captain! What would you have me do?" The shy sheep mink asked politely while saluting to the captain. She was definitely ready for anything with her Aries Style Ram Fu and Electro abilities that were going to be put to the test.
The young mink wore a blue shirt with a Ram's head facing the front and matching pants with her white tri-cornered hat that bore her name "MARIN" in blue letters. Her sheep horns and ears poked out of the hat. She waited for the captain or whoever was in charge to speak.
Marin went with Ranger and sighed. "So, what is my role in all this?" She asked Ranger. "I don't want us to get caught and have to fight our way into other levels. Anyone know what we are after here?" She asked quietly.
Marin continued to follow Ranger close by to cover in case any of the un-welcoming committee show up. "I'll be ready when you give the word. No one will expect me to be able to defend myself. Minks have a natural ability unique to them called Electro. Must be because of the static build up in our fur. Another ability is the Sulong form. This form is only unlocked during a visible full moon. Our eyes turn red, and our fur grows out. Once the full moon is hidden by the clouds or entering a building that we cannot see the full moon, we lose that power and return back to our base form. I am planning to develop new defense attacks with my Ram Fu. Mostly kicks, punches, and maybe head butting."
She waits for the signal to begin her part of the plan. "I have a knapsack to store the items you want from this mission. Once secure and away on our ship, we can give them to the captain to examine."
Marin is still following Ranger closely, keeping up surprisingly well. Her eyes continue to scan the area for any suspicious activity.
"You think these guys are onto us? I would assume they were watching us when we disembarked from our ship." She says cautiously. She hopes that the Major and the other crew members had a game plan when it came to engaging the enemy combatants. She wanted to know more about how her crew operated and how she would fit in. She willed herself to be on alert and prepare at a moment's notice. She was nervous as a sheep in a den of wolves, but she wasn't helpless; she had her Ram Fu, taught by her ancestors, starting with her great-grandfather, Duke Genghis Baan. She learned these skills from her father, Aram Baan.
"Marin Baan reporting for duty, Captain! What would you have me do?" The shy sheep mink asked politely while saluting to the captain. She was definitely ready for anything with her Aries Style Ram Fu and Electro abilities that were going to be put to the test.
The young mink wore a blue shirt with a Ram's head facing the front and matching pants with her white tri-cornered hat that bore her name "MARIN" in blue letters. Her sheep horns and ears poked out of the hat. She waited for the captain or whoever was in charge to speak.
Marin went with Ranger and sighed. "So, what is my role in all this?" She asked Ranger. "I don't want us to get caught and have to fight our way into other levels. Anyone know what we are after here?" She asked quietly.
Marin continued to follow Ranger close by to cover in case any of the un-welcoming committee show up. "I'll be ready when you give the word. No one will expect me to be able to defend myself. Minks have a natural ability unique to them called Electro. Must be because of the static build up in our fur. Another ability is the Sulong form. This form is only unlocked during a visible full moon. Our eyes turn red, and our fur grows out. Once the full moon is hidden by the clouds or entering a building that we cannot see the full moon, we lose that power and return back to our base form. I am planning to develop new defense attacks with my Ram Fu. Mostly kicks, punches, and maybe head butting."
She waits for the signal to begin her part of the plan. "I have a knapsack to store the items you want from this mission. Once secure and away on our ship, we can give them to the captain to examine."
Marin is still following Ranger closely, keeping up surprisingly well. Her eyes continue to scan the area for any suspicious activity.
"You think these guys are onto us? I would assume they were watching us when we disembarked from our ship." She says cautiously. She hopes that the Major and the other crew members had a game plan when it came to engaging the enemy combatants. She wanted to know more about how her crew operated and how she would fit in. She willed herself to be on alert and prepare at a moment's notice. She was nervous as a sheep in a den of wolves, but she wasn't helpless; she had her Ram Fu, taught by her ancestors, starting with her great-grandfather, Duke Genghis Baan. She learned these skills from her father, Aram Baan.
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