Grizzly Hornigold roars.

Dragging his beaten body through the rubble, he brushes the rocks away, even through his torn skin. His ankle is bent, but it was only a sprain. His head is bleeding, but it was only a scratch. 

The throne room was trashed, debris fallen in crusted, broken bits unacceptable to audience a king. The king was sent to his room, ironically enough-- this was not a scene for him to witness.

"Send a bill to Sengoku," Rear Admiral Ensie had to cheek to satirically jeer, "I'm sure he'll have this fixed in moments."

Masquerade's mask was broken by his side.

"Anyone conscious?" he called, voice hoarse.

Little could move-- if they were aware, they could not make a sound. Fortunately, no one seemed to be dead-- but injuries were far too severe for further battle.

Knight pried himself away from the wall, forcing his cracked helmet from his head. A cut scratched his neck, but he was free from mortal injuries. He threw it aside with a swear spat under his breath. 

"Fuck, they took Mime," he swore, "Grizzly!"

Fox held her wounded elbow, cringing at the acidic burn of bacteria in broken flesh. She held it close to her chest, and leaned heavily against the wall.

Jester was unconscious, his small frame crushed under a large block of broken cement. Dragging his feet, Grizzly threw an arm over the debris and pushed him free.

Those who could move quickly got each other away from immediate danger-- 

Grizzly's eyes swam over each and every one of them-- and it wasn't difficult to recognize the bubbling boil of resolve and determination still burning bright in their eyes.

No one was in the condition to fight. Not even he, with a bounty of twenty million berries, could stand up easily against a Rear Admiral-- much less a fleet.

This was a losing fight they wanted to burst into.

And Grizzly couldn't do that to his comrades, his family.

"We are not going after them," the words came out of his mouth-- a motley mixture of anger and frustration in a conflicting combination of reality against emotions-- "have you forgotten? we agreed to never stick our hands into someone else's past."

"But--" Butterfly joshed, getting up too quickly and wincing at a head wound.

"Mime was prepared for this," Grizzly said firmly, "his hope is for us to stay out of it and stay safe from his crimes."

"So you're just going to let them take him?"

"Would you rather we run into death and fail to save him anyway?" Grizzly growled, voice hoarse, "at the very least, none of you will be going. I will head in alone if I need to."

"Guys, Grizzly hit his head," Knight groaned out sarcastically.

"He's delirious, someone knock him out," Masquerade mumbled at the side.

"I'm trying to have a serious moment here!" Grizzly yelled, baffled beyond belief, "all of you look like you're gonna die, go to a hospital!"

"News flash, the hospital's coming to us," Fox informed everyone, taking a look out the window, "we're catching quite a bit of attention, and the Marine march is just leaving the palace."

Outside, where the rubble of the broken window had reached, were a few alarmed guards barking orders. Paramedics were making their way in, for the Masked Merchants.

Fox clutched her arm-- broken, probably-- and turned her gaze to the others.

Only a handful were conscious, the others were probably not dead. They needed immediate medical attention, but there was nothing to panic about.

Mime was led in the center of a circle of Marines. He wasn't resisting anymore.

"You think Pierrot's still alive out there?" Knight grunted, looking out. 

Pierrot was nowhere in immediate sight. How far had he flown? It was hard to say. If they saw right, he was bashed in by the skull. If the wound didn't kill him, the injuries will.

"That empty-headed clown's probably alive," Masquerade muttered, struggling to her feet, but deciding against it-- "he's a tough nut to crack, after all."

"Rose ran out after him, she'll get to him," Pig grumbled, "what's the plan, Grizzly?"

"I already said," Grizzly grumbled.

"Grizzly, you already know," Masquerade sighed, "if we die, we die together."

Grizzly just crumpled right then and there. Not him physically, his resolve and stubborn farce just melted away, he didn't even want to try anymore.

His fist gripped, and as the doors were opened and orders were hollered to help the injured, the resolve grew in him. Grizzly sighed, and turned to his crew.

"Whoever can still fight, come with me!" his orders were loud and booming, "we're taking Mime back with us!"

Almost immediately, a number of arms went up. A roar of determination rumbled through the hall, and Grizzly marched forward, not once looking back.

ー

"That's weird mask, that's just like us!" the bear-masked man laughed, pointing almost rude fingers at the black-haired man before them.

He had disheveled black hair, torn clothes, and wounds barely dressed. The mime clown mask on his face closed off his heart and locked him away before a wall three inches too thick-- he seemed more doll than human, unresponsive, unemotional-- the painted-on smile seemed said with those eyes that died long ago-- dim and unlit, it was hard to witness.

A girl in a silver, fancy masquerade eye mask brimmed her lips into a smile. "Hey, what are you supposed  to be? I'm Masquerade, and he's Grizzly!"

The boy evidently didn't like to talk. Didn't want to talk. His shoulders were droops, tired-- his eyes only stared right through the couple, empty and uninterested-- his gaze drifted, and his feet carried him away from there.

But he wasn't allowed to leave. The bear man had pulled him back by the shoulder, and the masquerade girl lunged forward to clasp her hands over his wrist.

"Mime!" Grizzly decided almost too quickly, "we'll call you Mime!"

  ー  

"Aaand, done," Visul breathed out, wiping the sweat at her forehead with the back of her sleeve, "wound sealed. Give him a couple days and it'll seal completely."

Pierrot was put down with a blood transfusion. He lost consciousness in the next moment-- but he was out of the woods. 

"I saw the Marines out there," Cross mumbled, crouching down next to him, "they had Mime with them, but I didn't see anyone else."

Crossing the street in a direct parade from the palace on the hill to the South Shore-- a march of armed Marines lined up on both sides of the street, clearing out obstructions for one tall man.

With sleek black hair and a Rear Admiral's coat of justice, his large halberd was kept on his back for more than just a show of fear.

Mime stood there, his hair disheveled and his cheek bruised. A thread of blood brimmed red at the side of his head-- he looked tired and grim. His hands were bound in tough wood, and he was simply following along, obedient.

"But why would they want just Mime?" Visul voiced her concern. She hadn't been here when the large of the mayhem occurred. She was right about to question the hole in the wall, but held herself back.

"Because that idiot didn't keep his mask on long enough," Takara's response was nearly much too fast-- "someone on the trading business probably sold him out."

"That thing about Mime having a bad crime record?" Cross asked, "oh, Pierrot did say something like that."

"Pretty much," Takara sighed, rubbing the back of his head in resignation, "now what?"

Cross eyed Takara meaningfully. Just a moment ago they were having a debate on this precise issue at hand-- now what?

Visul joined Cross in an intense stare-at-Takara-expectantly spree.

The answer was nearly obvious-- look, our friends are getting pummelled here, are we gonna leave them alone? There was only hidden reason to search for against it.

"That's a Rear Admiral we're facing," Takara sternly insisted, clutching his crossbow meekly, worried, "I don't care how you feel about this, Cross-- thinking realistically, we can't defeat him."

"You don't know that!" Cross rebutted, the heat going to his head all of a sudden, "hell, this is the first time you've ever implied that I'm weak, Takara!"

"That's the thing!" Takara groaned, exasperated, "this guy's just that strong! In comparison to him, you're, news flash, weak!"

"Then, are you saying we're supposed to just ignore them?!" Cross argued, "let them take Mime, let Mime die out there?"

"I'm not!" Takara raised his voice, standing up and taking on step closer to the hole in the wall-- "do you want to die, Cross?"

"Takara," Cross threw himself forward, grabbing the redhead by the collar. He was not angry-- just confused, baffled, just very-- at a lost, "why are you telling me not to go?"

"Because I don't want you to just go out and kill yourself like an idiot!" Takara blew up at him, pushing him down to the ground, "bear with it, can't you understand? It's idiocy to jump into the chaos for someone you barely even know!"

Cross tripped backward, falling on the ground.

"Wait--" Visul rushed over, "both of you, calm down a bit and--"

"Can you really say you barely know him, Takara?!" Cross shouted, "you were close to him and you liked him more than anyone on the ship! It was obvious to me, even from just spending one week together!"

Takara stepped back, conflicted--

"You're telling me not to go?" Cross gripped the carpet, "then, why are you holding your weapons?"

Takara's fists clenched, his arms swinging back to hide the crossbow strapped to his wrist. He looked away, almost embarrassed.

Cross eyed Takara with a stern glare almost authoritative-- he no longer said anything, and simply waited. Takara bit his bottom lip, regretful now.

Visul watched from a distance, curled in a corner as she realized-- these two weren't quite fighting as they first appeared-- 

They were freezing, paralyzed in place as they failed to find a reason to move. 

Something was holding them back from blindly charging into the fray. On Shikke Island, they leaped in with barely a second thought-- but here, they were quarrelling to have second thoughts they evidently didn't want to think of.

Visul clutched her skirt, realizing that it was her.

The two boys had something to protect now, so they didn't want to run into a losing battle.

"Cross, Takara," she knew they needed a push to go. Something that wasn't an excuse. She wanted to tell them to not worry about her, that she could take care of herself, that they could go where their emotions wanted. They didn't have to worry about pulling Visul into a battle she could die in.

That she wasn't worried to lose another home so soon.

The two looked over, pain in their eyes and tension in their body language.

"I promised Rose that I'd save Mime and Grizzly for her," her voice was hollower than she'd thought it'd sound. She was annoyed, frustrated, just plain angered at her own powerlessness in fixing the situation.

The two seemed to flinch back, like they were afraid-- of her? Maybe she was being scarier than she suspected, too.

"Is this the time to be fighting?" her voice was satiric, a smile only so sarcastic, her eyes closed as she tilted her head a little to the side, lips curving upwards in joy and kindness that didn't feel friendly at all.

The two took a cautious, horrified step back.

"Get out there," she seethed, "and FIGHT!"

Without another word from either of them, Cross spun back, dove for his blades, and left through the broken wall. Takara scooped up his quivers, buckled on his tools and dashed right out of the door, as if making a quick evacuation from the scene.