The train was completely ordinary, running off of a steam engine. Leather seats faced opposite each other against either side of the train, a wooden table in between them. Light filtered through the raggedy blinds, capturing the dust in its beams. An unlit oil lamp above squeaked as it swayed back and forth, as if trying to call out for someone to take it down from its perch. The cabin was filled with men and woman, dressed neatly, no children. Thank god for that, he doubted he could deal with their constant noise across this whole trip. Still, perhaps some sound to help fill things out would be a good thing, as the man found himself quickly dozing off, his head tipped back and his mouth ajar, letting out a quiet snore as he breathed. He awoke with a shudder, as if trying desperately to deny he had lost consciousness at all. Gazing out the window he saw the same indistinguishable forest, each section looking just the same as the last. However, judging by the suns new position, it would be a safe bet to say that he had been out cold for a few hours at the very least. His carriage had become considerably more populated in his absence, with no less than three men seated around Landru with two additionally standing, clutching onto the overhead railing. He shuffled over, closer to the wall to allow for the stranger to have more room, surprised someone at the sudden increase of passengers. It wasn't exactly as if this was prime traveling time. He frowned, looking out over the rest of the carriage. On a second inspection it was clear that something peculiar was up. While the rest of his cart was relatively the same when it came to the population, around him was incredibly dense. He peered over the men seated around him, who were whispering among themselves. Be it because of how quiet they were or because of how recently it had been since Landru had awoken but he would be damned if he could make out a word that they were saying. Each was coated heavily in oil and soot, leaving one to believe that they must be part of the crew working on the train. Then, just like that, he woke up.

He opened his eyes, blinking into the bright sun, the crisp air of Loguetown feeling like sour milk against his nose. Something had hit him, awaking him from his slumber. Craning his neck, it cracking as he did so, he peered at the crusts of an egg sandwich, no doubt thrown into the gutter by some brat who didn't like crusts. His hand reached out, bones and veins sticking out under his skin, looking like a set of loose skin over a skeleton as he pried at the food. His back ached and his legs were numb, the coldness from the gutter he had been sleeping in no doubt the result of that. Above him gulls circled, as if trying to claim their meal. Landru didn't know if they were fighting over the sandwich or his corpse and at this point he didn't care. His breath was dry, like glass had been scraped down his throat and his body was covered in cuts and filth, a result of the battle he had with a greyhound over its dinner. Peering at the sandwich for a moment, studying over its molded outer and the green eggs inside, he didn't have a second thought as he stuffed it down his throat and eating a few bits of gravel in the process, he rolled over, tugging his newspaper blanket over his shoulder as he did so, his bowls releasing the black mess from within to sink over his legs, briefly warming him. He would be asleep by the time it cooled, by the time he could smell it. Tucking his head under his arm, he muttered to himself. "It's gonna be a long winter."

What a dump! Loguetown wss a fairly decent spit of land for the most part. Even a number of the low income areas were pretty nice, and this was coming from a man raised in wealth. But the part of town he found himself in right now was...well...a total shithole. Really. It was interesting to see an area like this in a such a nice town. Especially when you considered the government's hold on the island. What did these assholes spend all the tax money on? Celestial Dragon shaped butt-plugs? That wouldnt surprise him. All these Marines sucked on their superior officers like lollipops. The Marines were just such a shitty bunch of people, ya know? Vicktur couldnt imagine why someone would choose to be the bitch of a singular world spanning government entity. Especially with the known corruption in its highest ranks, as well as its usage of the Shichibukai; dastardly pirates given pardons to do whatever they wanted, for a cost. The giant of a man was most pleased to hear how they got their asses kicked at the Redline. Aquaflore made him proud to be an enemy of the World Government. And all the sycophants who allied with them.

Vicktur walked down the poorly paved streets, sipping on a bottle of scotchka. One of the best parts of these damn slums was how cheap and readily available alcohol was. He assumed it was because people needed a way to drown their sorrows. Or look for lifes answers at the bottom of the bottles. He was doing neithee of these things. He was just enjoying a terrible drink while chasing a buzz. From the corner of his eye he could see the homeless rabble enjoying their own spirits, or panhandling for nickels and dimes to afford some. The few who had approached him for change were turned away quickly, for fear of maiming. He had no time for charity. If they could make it worth his while? Well, that would be a different story entitely. The ten gallon jug he carried with him was half way finished before he felt the effects hit. A nice little buzz. Nothing too much. And since he had no intention of getting any worse, he decided to hand the rest off to one of these poor sods. Walking by a shit-covered catman, something he had never seen before, he nudged its body with his nice shoes. Making sure not to transfer any of the filth onto them. Aye! If you're not dead I bet you're thirsty. he sloshed the alcohol around in the large canister. Then extended it down for the cat to take Drink up, meow man.

Five gallons of alcohol, spirits no less. You could have to be some complete retard to drink that and think you could possibly get off free. Not to mention how bad alcohol is for you on a normal day, in quantities like that it was basically a death sentence. Landru looked up at the giant of a man who had apparently decided to take pity on him of all people. The problem was, he brought him out of his sleep, his ass was starting to cool which meant he would have to try and go to sleep with crusty shit between his asscheeks. "You're a real piece of shit." He grumbled before turning back over, ready to push reality away once more. It took only a few seconds for him to realize the error in his ways however, it felt like his whole lower body had been submerged in a bowl of ice, or that he had been the victim of a yeti bukkake. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly the best experience he had ever had. Ugh, and the smell was starting to pick up to, it seemed like black fucking death had invaded between his legs.

Slowly pushing himself to his feet, brushing the newspaper off of himself, it would seem like he was forced back into the real world. Dressed in an old hawaiian t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, he was exactly the kinda bum you would expect to jump at the chance for something like five gallons of alcohol. Instead, he did something completely different. Picking up the heavy bottle filled with the golden liquid that burned at his nose, he tipped it upright, the contents pouring down the back hem of his pants, washing away the chunks of crud that fell to the gutter, moving slightly before hitting the clogged drain. Content that the bottle was drained, he tossed the glass ball towards that cunt of a bum who kept asking him for change. It smashed about five meters to his right, the fucker didn't even budge. He had successfully stopped smelling like shit, but now he just stunk like alcohol. Not bothering to crane his neck to match the boy's eyes, he instead looked straight ahead at just above his knees. "Do you have a ship, fucker?" He stammered as he stretched out, yawning. "Or do you know anyone who has a ship, or perhaps a ship that isn't protected very well?"

Vicktur watched the man take the bottle. He didnt seem very interested in drinking it. Surprising! Normally these shit-stained bums would choke down your dick for a bottle 1/4th that size. Maybe Vicktur found himself in rare company...atleast in that regard. He had met a bunch of people like this pussy, living on a gutter. Vicktur bet his life was just as shitty as his clothes. That could explain why he was such an asshole. The cat dumped the scotchka down his back, washing off his no-no. Well, atleast he didnt smell like shit anymore. That was always a plus. After giving himself an ethanol bath the kitty addressed him. He asked him if he had a ship, or knew someone who had one. Preferably one unguarded. So he could steal it, no doubt. Maybe I do. But why would anyone let a bum like you anywhere near their property? You look shifty as fuck. Vicktur was willing to bet that this damned cat was a thief ontop of being a very unpleasant person. What the hell would you know about sailing a ship anyways? Shits creek isnt a real thing, no matter how much you might belong there. it was a rather cold hearted thing to say, but Vicktur gave no shits whatsoever. This damn cat was rude as all hell and smelled fucking terrible. Youd think living in a gutter and eating literal trash would help make you more humble. But apparently not. The fucker deserved it.

He rolled his eyes, ignoring the idiots comment about shit creek. "Do you always decide if you're not going to like a book from the cover?" He asked dryly, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, leaving the disgusting piece of clothing on the ground, revealing his anorexic form covered in a series of tattoo's. "You don't! If you're not an idiot at least, who knows you might be an idiot, what the fuck do I know about that? Not a hell of a lot, I'll give you that one for free." He brushed off at his chest, his skin sagging to the touch as flakes of dried dirt and food pulled from him. "I dunno about you, kid. But I don't exactly wanna spend more time in this shithole than I have to, get it? Now I wouldn't be asking if you had a ship if I didn't know how to pilot the fucking thing, I'm not some cock sucker, not the normal type around here, at least. I have some form of self respect left." He licked at his hands, similar to how a cat would lick their paws, his gigantic ears twitching, absorbing the sounds of the areas as if he had just been reborn. "Right, where were we?" He asked, running his now when hand between his ears as if trying to slick back his hair. "Right, the ship. Do you have one or not, asshole. I don't wanna sit around with my finger up my ass wasting time talking to some over grown child if he's not even gonna talk back."

Vicktur raised an eyebrow as the mink tossed awa his shirt, revealing his skin and bones underneath. If it had been almost anybody else he woukd agree with his "book by its cover" line. But in this regard, Vicktur was inclined to disagree. He was a shit-covered cat who lived in a drainage ditch. The first thing he addressed Vicktur by was fucker. He was pretty sure his ramble was well deserved. Thwn again, Vicktur was only nineteen years old. You're funny for a house-cat Vicktur said smiling. It wasnt very often that he got such entertaining back and forth around here. The upperclass paid him no mind, and the rest of them were too busy doing....what the fuck ever they do. He scratched at his head and pondered for a moment. You'd make a nice rug if you werent so damn ugly. he let out a mirthful chuckle. Like I said before, maybe I do. Maybe I dont. Maybe i'm looking for one and a Navigator. he not so subtlety dropped a hint. Or whatever. It was true that he had no ship or way to navigate on one. But it wasnt exactly true that he came here to look for one. For all he cared he could take the tour boat back to where he came from. Vicktur scanned the felines tattoos and was rather interested. Where'd you get those tattoos from? You do time? of course tattoos didnt necessarily imply prison. But that many normally meant jail time, piracy, or gang affiliations.

"You turn me into a rug and I'll make sure you slip and break your fucking neck." She spat out. Pushing into the base of his back and leaning back, he felt his back click in a few too many places for what was normal. "If you're looking for a navigator you at the right place, I'm probably the best goddamn navigator and shipwright there is in this fucking town." He snarled, clearing his throat and spitting a clump of phlegm into the gutter where he had been resting only a few moments ago. "The tats?" He repeated dumbly, peering down his arm, scanning over the various images and slogans plastered over his skin. "A gang? Yeah, you could call 'em that. Their type prefer 'The Law' but what are you gonna do. I used to be a marine, I used to be a lot of things, I'm almost forty fucking years old." He trailed off, lost in thought. "Look, do the tats really fucking matter? If you care so much about them, buy me some food, I'll tell you all about it over breakfast, or lunch. Fuck! I don't care what it is, but if I can eat it I will." He hissed, his thin sandpaper like tongue rubbing over his lips and he eyed the larger mans pockets.

Vicktur laughed when the mink threatened to break his neck. This cat was a real lively one. Didnt take any shit, didnt give a shit, and was good at talking it. Vicktur waved his hand at him in a "just fucking with you" motion, while the cat continued to talk. The mink continued by filling him in on his expert qualifications. Apparently this bum was the best damn Shipwright and Navigator in town. Seeing as Loguetown was a famous tourist trap and port, Vicktur highly doubted he was the best in town. He'd be willing to be a few Marines in town had seen the Grand Line. But what the mink said next is what took Vicktur by surprise the most. This mink, this damn cat, was an Ex-Marine! Vicktur's heart skipped a beat as he held back his hand from grabbing his sword. A noticable twitch ran through his hand. For a moment his thoughts drowned out the mink's words. Vicktur wasnt sure if he should even bother with this damn bastard anymore. He had a strong distaste for Marines, a very obvious one at that. However, he had never met a former Marine before. And he really needed a Navigator shoukd he gets his hands on a ship. Or the materials to build one.

I'm gonna be honest with you, cat. Where im from we kill Marines when its possible. he let the words sink in for a moment. But I need a Navigator and a ship. Maybe you're worth the gamble. Vicktur crossed his arms over his chest. I'll take you up on that offer for lunch. Depending on how things go we'll see if your worth not trying to kill. Vicktur wasnt the charitable type. But this was more of an investment than anything else. I just need to find a diner or something around here.

Landru doubled over in laughter, a shrill cackling cry that vibrated through his entire body. His tiny form rattled, looking as it was going to break in half just from the convulsions running through him. He composed himself, leaning against the strangers knee for support with one arm, the other wiping away at the tears forming in his eyes. "Where I come from you get fined for littering, but we wouldn't charge someone for it twenty years after he missed the bin." He replied smugly, giggles still shaking him. His ears perked up at the offer for lunch, something that clearly had the mink excited, more than any mention of treasure or woman could. How long had it been since he had eaten? A few days at the least. He tried drinking salt water but that had just made him delirious. "You're not gonna find anything good in this place, kid." He grumbled, his past experience dumpster diving could tell him that much. Never trust a restaurant that didn't throw any food out, it just meant they served it the next day. "Follow me, yo." He called, waving over his shoulder as he was already wandering away, hunched over like an old man twice his age. The pair soon arrived at what was probably he most respectable building in the whole area "Chuck & Larry's Slop Diner, now run by Meredith, the widowed wife of both Chuck and Larry. The dirty slut." He informed his partner before wandering inside. He turned away from the menu instead licking his chops while staring at the fish tank, eyeing up their plump goldfish. "Get me whatever you want kid, your shout!" He yelled out, not prying his eyes away from the beautiful creatures. "I want a drink!"

The cat-man burst into manic laughter at his mentioning of killing Marines. The thought was obviously hilarious to him. Vicktur wasnt nearly as amused as the dirty gutter mink was. His eye creased as he snarled at the cats reaction. He was super serious about the whole thing....dead serious. Vicktur's hatred for the government didnt stem from past woes on his part. In fact, his fathers relationship with the powers that be only benefited him and his shit family. But he knew damn well what the so-called artibters of justice were willing to turn a blind eye to. He was involved in trading flesh for beli, after all. But that wasnt what he did anymore. Not since he killed his father, brothers, and sisters. Then burned their estate down to nothing but ashes. There were many pirates that were no better than the corrupt asshats who held the world under their thumbs. Rapists, thieves, and murderers flew the Jolly Roger. But atleast they didnt pretend to stand for peace and freedom, only to turn the other way when terrible people, above them and on their payroll, did terrible things. Atleast the pirates admitted what they truly were.

The frail feline finished his laughing frenzy at the mentioning of food. He wiped the tears from his eyes and jumped onto his feet as his weak body would allow. He immediately motioned for Vicktur to follow him, already on the move. The cats monolouge on littering kind of rubbed him the wrong way. Sure, you wouldnt punish someone for littering twenty years after the fact. But a litterer would no doubt litter again. Just as an Ex-Marine coukd, potentially, see the World Government as an ally even after taking off the suit. But Vicktur was willing to take a chance on this cat. He needed a Navigator if he was ever to get a ship and sail for the New World. He wasnt after the One Piece as much as he was after an experience. He sought to improve his skills and harden his resolve. He was sure to undergo many challenges as he chased tge most famed treasure the world had ever seen. Only the strongest to make it to the end and claim immortality in the annals of history. Win or lose, live or die, it was all part of the game. And Vicktur had no plans to lose that game.

He followed the famished mink to an establishment called Chuck & Larry's. It wasnt anything to write hime about. But compared to the rest of the area it might as well have been Mariejois. The cat-man was practically salivating at the sight of the fish. Vicktur flagged down a waiter and pointed to the tank Three of your biggest fish. Some rice, sake and....some water. the waiter simply nodded and made his way to the back. C'mon fleabag. I'm not gonna stand around and watch you drool on yourself all day. he walked and sat down at a booth. I might as well get straight to the point. What made you decide to become an Ex-Marine?

He glanced side to side, wondering if anyone would notice. Satisfied that no one was looking his way, his hands slid up the side of the glass tank, his eyes still hungrily set on the swimming fatties. As his clawed fingers dipped into the water, however, he was called by a voice from across the room. "Right, the betamale..." He mumbled, retracting his nail from the tank. Slinking in behind him, he took his seat in the lumpy booth, the spring in the chair poking through the leather, jabbing at his leg. "Straight to the point, huh?" He repeated, his hands pressed together in front of him as if he was praying. "Well..." He paused, trying to think of a convincing lie. "We were getting asked to do some pretty dodgy stuff, you know? I've done some fucked up things in the past, I think we've all gotten a little rough from time to time, but not like that. It was something completely different." It was all bullshit, of course. In reality he was still on the Marine's employment list, should war break out he would be called to serve, but he didn't exactly want to tell that to the 13 foot behemoth sitting in front of him. "Of course, I could just be lying to you, hmm? I guess you'll just have to trust me." They were interrupted as a plate of food was placed down between them along with two glasses. Peering into the cups, he recognized the liquid instantly. Pushing the dusty window open with his elbow, he snatched at the drink, pouring the contents out the open escape. "You shouldn't drink that stuff, it's bad for you." He lectured, slamming the empty glass back on the table before draining the water down his dry throat. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, he already sounded a lot less hoarse then before, no longer seeming like he swallowed a bag of rocks. His focused turned to the mean in front of him. Glaring at it, he pinched the fish between his dirty fingers, tossing it onto the table, the oil splattering over his large companion. "I don't eat meat. I don't believe in eating anything that can think enough to decide it doesn't want to be eaten." He explained, wiping the oil from his fingers onto his chest, before going to town on the rice. "So, what kind of ship is it? How big?" He asked between mouthfuls of the steaming food.

The Revolutionary began to regret his decision almost immediateky. The mink sat down and began to spin a clever tale. He was pretty convincing, actually. If Vicktur was any other person he'd probably eat it up. But he wasnt and he didnt. He knew bullshit when he smelled it, and the mink was shoveling it by the ton. Or maybe he wasnt and Vicktur was just being too inquisitive? Either way the fact of the matter was this; he had never met a Marine who defected. Let alone for doing some icky things that violated their sensibilities. They all came up with a rationalization. For god and country, for the greater good, for justice, for family, or just for fun. No matter what they were asked to do. They would inevitably find a way to justify it to themselves and everyone else. Vicktur sat back and let the cat continue his rambling. He couldnt help but grit his teeth in anger when the bum told him, in a rather snarky way, that he was probably lying and Vicktur would just have to trust him. Before Vicktur coukd give the stray cat a piece of his mibd the food arrived, calming him a bit. He wasnt starving but he could eat.

The mink acted faster than he, however. The furry fuck dumped his sake oit the window. But that wasnt the extent of his tresspasses. Next he downed every drop of water. Then, the gall on this motherfucker, then he touched the fish with his dumpster hands and threw it on the table! The natural oils stained Vicktur's clothes. The mink said some bullshit about not eating meat, despite salivating like a wet cunt over it only moments ago. Now, with a mouth full of steaming rice, he asked about his ship. Vicktur's hand hugged the handle of his sword. I dont think so... he stabbed into the fish with his fork and slammed it onto the cat's plate. You're gonna eat that fucking fish and your gonna like it! he was clearly as angry as the rice was steamy. Listen pussy-cat. I'll trust you when you convince me you are worth my trust. Do you want to get out of this shithole? Or do you want to go back to sleeping in the gutter? he removed his sword and sheathe from his waste and stood it up next to himself. I have no ship...yet. But you and I can get one faster than if we were going at it alone. So, are you interested? Or are you going to go back to your sewer and wait for the Marines to give a fuck about you?

His eyes narrowed as the piece of fish was forced back onto his plate with a fury, as if he had directly insulted his partner by giving him all of the 'good stuff'. He pierced it once more with his claws, the fish looking like someone had run it over at this point, slapping it back down on his partners side of the table, chunks of white meat and oil going everywhere. They were starting to make a scene, but he didn't care in the slightest. The fact that this boy was trying to pull dominance over him wasn't something he could sit back and take like it was nothing. "I didn't eat it because I don't believe in god. There's no way in hell I would eat something with a brain like a fish in the first place, so there's no way I'm gonna eat it now you've got your fork all through it. Not now. Not ever." He paused, his hands pushed together as if in prayer once more, his chin resting on his fingertips, mulling over the situation, repeating the words of his larger than life annoyance in silence.

"Even if I took a bullet for you, I pushed you out of the way of an oncoming car, taking to impact myself. Would you trust me then? Would you think to yourself, 'Landru is a man I can trust with my life'?" He paused, letting the dilemma sink in slightly before continuing. "If you think that you would, you're an idiot. You can only trust in one thing with people and that is that they want more than they have. Greed. Greed is all that their is to trust in. So when you come at me threatening with your hands on a blade bigger than I am, I don't have any fear at all. Would you like to know why?" His orb eyes opened, looking directly into his partners for the first time, studying over his face. He was just a kid, a kid trying to act tougher than he was in a world he couldn't possibly understand. "Because you need me a lot more than I need you. I'm needed, you're not going anywhere without someone like me, but a person like you? A big man to throw around a sword and yell insulting words, you're expendable. There's a thousand of you today, and their will be a thousand of you tomorrow. But how many people do you think you'll encounter who can build a vessel capable of withstanding any assault but also pilot it into the depths of destruction and back? People like me." His head turned, looking out the window at the ships boarding and leaving port, journeys and stories just waiting to be written down. "Don't bother speaking to me about trust, or how I need to prove myself to you. You've proven yourself to be exactly the kind of person I expected, which means you, above all else need me, whether you trust me or not." He shrugged, returning to his rice. "It doesn't really matter."

That's where you're sorely mistaken, cat. This island is swimming with Navigators to pick up. Pirates, merchants, or just regular folk looking for some fun. Vicktur flagged down a waiter and asked for another pitcher of water. Sure, I may have to pay them but atleast they wont be a giant white-and-blue liability. the Revolutionary had a hard time deciding whether this man was still tied to his past life. He didnt buy his "I felt baaaad about doing baaaad stuff" gobbledygook from before. However, that didnt necessarily mean he still had a soft spot for his old comrades. However, if I wanted to pay some schmuck i'de paid some schmuck. So as far as I see it we need each other as much as you need fleas biting on your ass. the waiter returned with the water and laid it infront of Vicktur. He picked it up and took a good long swig. He needed that, after the cat-man so rudely hogged the last pitcher of water. The waiter cleared the table of the unused plates and cleaned up their mess. Vicktur waited for him to fuck off before continuing Now that we've firmly established that neither obe of us needs the other, how about we talk about how we can get what we can from each other? Unless you plan to defend your ship from Pirates and Raiders yourself? Which I doubt seeing as you're practically a fucking skeleton. Vicktur returned his weapon back to his hip. But I can. And unlike a bunch of hired goons, I wont get greedy and take your head for your ship. Of course, you could always go crawling back to the Marines to help you out. But the fact that you were crawling around in a gutter when I found you makes me think that you would prefer not to do that. Else youd already be out at sea, hot-bunking with the other dogs.