Klinghoffer had just unleashed mayhem upon the slums, his facial expression had changed drastically from a look of pride to instant regret, he stopped in his tracks and stared blankly at the wall as Sylvester went into a burning rage. Thousands of thoughts ran through his mind at this point, memories of the west blue, the one he lost, faces of the slaves he just freed fading away. Klinghoffer closed his eyes and tried to visual any happy thoughts he had, yet no matter how hard he tried, the only thing that he could visualize was himself surrounded by the bodies of the very people he just released, crawling to him and screaming his name. His actions weren't something that could just be forgiven or solved with the push of a button, these were things that he would just have to live with because there was no way to track down over 50 untrackable slaves.

Klinghoffer opened his eyes and came to just as Sylvester started to hatch his new plan, still staring at the wall trying to listen to how he can make amends for his rash actions. He turned around as he heard Sylvester's feet clashing against the old and creaky wooden planks of the staircase, Klinghoffer's eyes met with a sharp finger being pointed straight at him as the cowboy made his final piece before ascending up the stairwell and leaving.

“A cowboy with so little style as yourself has no business improvising, Sideshow! You wanna ride with me, we stick to the same wavelength! You got that, partner?”


"Got it...." he said with in a monotonal voice. Klinghoffer waited a moment after he heard Sylvester take his final step of the staircase and exit the basement, he then walked over to the small table and picked up one of the small chairs that we sitting under it. With a loud "ARGH!" the musician picked up the chair and violently threw it at the wall, the chair's fickle frame was demolished as soon as it touched the wall, the large chunks of wood fell to the floor and made a loud clank against the old wood floor.

Klinghoffer was still livid at his own naivety get the best of him once more, but he couldn't let his regrets fuel his further actions as that would lead to even more dissonance between the pair and one or both of the two ending up 6 feet under. He walked up the stairs and made his way out of the bar, walking past all the patrons who were still very much frightened. "Sorry..." was the only word that came to mind as he walked through the whole where the door frame used to be, "Off to Slaughter Row go then."

If it was true the songbird might be a loose end, but, Sylvester Sweet opted for a fast response time as opposed to a neat exit. He left behind the patrons of the bar, cowering and frightened, clearly some of them had been accosted in one way or another by the mob of slaves that had run through, and it seemed some had even decided to escape in the ordeal. The cowboy paid them little mind, save for a nod of his hat the crowd when he walked from the bar. In the chill of the evening, he tried to collect his thoughts and get his mind working at an orderly pace, but possibilities of chaos relentlessly tugged at this head.

He didn’t wait up for Klinghoffer, and simply pressed through the district towards Slaughter Row. Well into the evening, patrols across Water 7 seemed to be much more scarce, with loiterers and small parties of kids making themselves known instead. Moving closer to the slums from the heart of the business district meant such vagabonds appeared with even greater frequency. Without the presence of patrols, Sylvester again opted for efficient movement over careful thought, ditching his cautious style.

Several young men were crowded around the bridge over a certain canal, but, Sylvester had no intention of diverting his path around them. Instead, he simply moved to part the dirty seven with a crack of his rope, uncoiling it, and striking the air between them. The sound was enough to ward off a few of them, opening ample space for the cowboy to cross over the water.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” one of the boys asked, venom dripping off of his voice.

But, Sylvester didn’t spend the time to answer that question, merely walking straight into the midst of their group. Hoping to bypass any confrontation, he figured no answer would be better than trying to convince them of their place. With how the night was going, the less fights he got tangled up in, the greater chance he’d probably have of succeeding in what was left of the operation. Unfortunately, silence was not the answer these strangers were happy to hear.

“You think you’re all high and mighty, huh?!” one figure asked, thrusting out with a knife in his hand. Sylvester moved to dodge, but surrounded on all sides, another kid grabbed his arm and the blade plunged into Sylvester’s chest.

Recoiling from the attack, Sylvester only found himself on the middle of the bridge over the canal. Isolated from the outside by a ring of these five ruffians. The cowboy revealed his six shooter, but it failed to intimidate the group tightening onto Sylvester’s position.

“We’ll show you what happens when you cross the Canal Chameleons gang, Cowboy! Welcome to Slaughter Row!”

Klinghoffer exited the bar with no further response to the patrons inside and their whimpers, instead, he put his mindset into that of his alias that was given to him by some marines as a sick joke, Smooth Criminal. This was awarded to him because of the constant bad luck he would commonly have at the end of a job, even the most thorough and well-planned jobs had been foiled by sheer unluckiness or rash thinking. With the alias of Smooth Criminal came the expectations made by the people who weren't in on the cruel joke, but this time Klinghoffer wasn't going to let it happen to another good mission. With his mind focused on the goal, he walked to slaughter row post haste with the intention to salvage the job and complete it, the best way to do that was along the canals.

Klinghoffer made his way out of the previous district and to the edge of slaughter row via the walkways next to the canals, as he approached another bridge that went over the lush waterway, the musician saw a group of men in a circle in tattered clothes. that sort of sight was very common in the slums but his attention was drawn to the gang when he heard one of the men say “We’ll show you what happens when you cross the Canal Chameleons gang, Cowboy! Welcome to Slaughter Row!”
Klinghoffer slung his guitar over his shoulder and into his hands then changed course to up the stairs attached to the bridge. As he made it to the top of the stairs next to the gang, he put his fingers on the smooth fretboard and with a loud Twang, Klinghoffer struck his Minor Inversion Triad once again and watched the group of hoodlums freeze in place like a game of Red Light, Green Light. The musician flung his guitar around onto his back again and walked into the centre of the crowd by pushing a frozen gang member off of the railing of the bridge, he looks Sylvester up and down and says "You've looked worse..."

"Listen up you runts, the Canal Cringeworthy Criminals or whatever your pathetic name is, doesn't mean shit to me or anyone in this town" Klinghoffer tells the criminals as he drags each of the gang members off the side of the bridge, leaving all but one left. He holds the man up and hangs him over the rail, "Oh god man don't do it! For the love of Enel have some mercy!" the final member squealed. "Remember this, this Smooth Criminal right here left you alive because he wanted you to be, you live because i give you life and i can easily take it back." The musician threatens as he puts the paralyzed man back down and walks back over to Sylvester. Klinghoffer carefully pulls out the knife and pours out some of the rum he had taken from the bar onto the wound as an antiseptic, he then rips of a long strip of his shirt and wraps the wound. "It's probably for the best that we take you to the doctor, not to mention I need a new shirt."

Sylvester Sweet was embarrassed and thankful of Klinghoffer’s appearance on that bridge. As the liquor soaked through his shirt and stung the wound, he watched the last of the Canal Chameleons run off into the darkest parts of the city. From that disappearing figure, he looked down to see his shirt, absolutely ruined. Sylvester clenched his teeth, the entire outfit he was wearing was tied together by that shirt, and now it was absolutely ruined with blood and rum. The cowboy’s life had been saved, but at what cost?

“No doc, partner,” Sylvester protested, struggling to stand to his feet. “I’ve got a safehouse back towards the business district. I’ll be fine, but take me there. I can’t be seen looking like this.”

Making tracks out of Slaughter Row, Sylvester Sweet’s breath turned a bit ragged as he kept the cloth pressed against his wound. Luckily, the pair avoided any further contact with those out in the night, due in part to the cowboy switching back to his more cautious style of progression. After much too long, he found his way back to what used to be an abandoned warehouse beneath a canal bridge. Unlocking the door and walking inside, he flipped a switch, turning on a rudimentary dial light system. With illumination back to the dim room, he found a small kit of medical supplies and went to work on the wound on his belly.

But, the light also revealed the rest of the makeshift quarters Sylvester had been using on the island. Long metal beams held a boggling abundance of shirts, pants and accessories. Belts, hats, holsters and boots lined one long wall of the abode. On another were a collection of bounty posters and newspaper clippings, many with neatly organized strings connecting them together into cohesive threads. A long, winding string of violet tied together a poster of Uther Lance with clippings about great feuds across the Grand Line. Overall, it was neat and organized to the fullest extent of Sylvester’s ability, even if his meager wooden table was now bearing the weight of the cowboy himself.

After arduously sewing a neat mend to his slash, Sylvester thoroughly cleaned the skin surrounding it, leaving nothing but an ugly cut and its stitches. “Those yellow-bellied gangsters better not have left a scar,” Sylvester lamented, fearing a permanent mark on his beautiful body. Shedding his shirt and folding it up, he scanned his wardrobe for a replacement, picking out a dull maroon top, with faded bronze buttons and the perfect shade to disguise any further bloodshed.

“We are pressed for time, so a complete overhaul might not be an option for you,” Sylvester said plainly, further examining his wardrobe before picking out a hat that better matched his new shirt. “But, feel free to pick anything you like, you’ve got the finest selection on Water 7 before you,” after saying that, he thought for a moment, then picked out a burnt orange shirt with white lining, a near match for the color of Layla. “Lemme know what you think of that, Klinghoffer.” And that sentence was about as close as Sylvester was willing to get for a true thanks.

As Sylvester clambered to his feet, Klinghoffer put the rum away once more and walked beside the cowboy as they made their way towards the apparent safehouse that was located in the business district. The walk wasn't that far from where the stabbing took place but the pace they proceeded was almost as painful as what Klinghoffer assumed the wound to feel like, still he shouldn't judge a man's pace if he has just been stabbed. "Damn, you alright?" The musician said as he watched Sylvester's face cringe in pain as he pressed the red coloured rag on his chest. As he examined further, Klinghoffer noticed that the shirt Sylvester was wearing was now ruined with both alcohol stains, but blood and a stab hole too.

The pair reached a door located under a stone bridge, Sylvester opened the door and flicked on the lights to the pitch black room. The light emanating from above revealed a large area that looked like it was a storage facility for a clothing company mixed with a detective's board of clues and connections. The two entered the room and the cowboy immediately began to get to work on fixing himself, Klinghoffer looked around at all of the clothes that were lined up neatly on the rack. He walked along beside the wall of clothes that seemed to be endless, the amount of style that Sylvester strived so much for was extremely evident with just one look at his colossal wardrobe. The cowboy finished stitching himself up and walked over to find an appropriate replacement for his old clothes, after picking out a matching hat to go with his new attire he proceeded to show off a maroon top that was closely matched to the colour of his beloved Layla.

"My sincere thanks for the gesture of picking out something, but i already have my eye on a certain something, if that's okay." Klinghoffer dismissed as he walked over to another rack, he took off his ripped shirt and stuffed it into his back pocket for the meantime. He helped himself to a long sleeve dark red button up shirt and dressed himself in it. Klinghoffer then pulled out a leather bolo tie with a fancy calligraphy 'K' encrusted on the medal from his belongings and put it on, he then walked over to the wooden table and slapped his hands on the top and inquires, "Now that we have at least eliminated one pest from Slaughter Row, how about we settle our business at the location marked on the map?

Sylvester Sweet watched his partner emerge from the cowboy’s wardrobe with a new shirt and bolo tie. It wasn’t quite as good as Sylvester had in mind, but the shirt looked better than what he’d been wearing before at the very least. Slowly, Klinghoffer had really elevated himself. Even back at that bridge, he fought cleanly, with no bloodshed and a simple disappearing act pulled on the enemies. And now, his style had been elevated with the help of Sylvester’s own collection of clothes. This makeshift alliance felt better and better as the night had continued.

At Klinghoffer’s question, Sylvester nodded. “There’s no telling where those slaves might be at this point. With the interference of those gangsters, we’ve lost a lot of ground compared to them,” he said, thinking along with his own explanation. “At this point, we should probably assume that Rascal Stone and Uther Lance both already know of the slave revolt. If that’s true then it’s also safe to assume the main forces of both Under Station and the Red Forest Company are being deployed to help quell their little problem.”

Sylvester looked upon the newspaper clippings all connected back to Uther Lance. Each headline detailed flaming horrors and grand naval conflicts. Messes across the Grand Line could be ended just by cutting off this one pest of a head. So much disorder could be abruptly concluded by the time sunlight broke over the island.

“Klinghoffer! Perchance your lil’ improv earlier may play to our advantage. If those buckin’ slaves still haven’t been wrangled, we may find both groups on the backfoot. Here’s my proposition, plain and simple,” he turned from the clippings to the guitarist. “We follow the noise, and put down anybody who decides to cause a ruckus. We take down the shipwrights and pirates alike, expose ‘em to the tin stars, and they’ll be put away, scrubbed out of the world.

“What do you say, partner?”

Klinghoffer adjusts his bolo as he pulls out a chair from the table and sits down with one leg crossed over the other and his hands behind his head. After listening attentively to Sylvester's Intel, everything said was true and the did have to be aware of what the enemy knows at all times, the best way to do that would be to go straight to the source and beat the information out of a high up in either Under Station or Red Forest Company. He stretches his back and arms out and with a loud yawn he turns his attention to the newspaper clippings that lie upon the wall neatly with each clipping tied neatly to another one, quickly followed by the cowboy. They both gazed upon all the connections that lead straight back to Uther Lance, each one was worse than the last and as he moved his gaze from one clipping to another he imagined Uther's extremely punchable face beside each one of them, laughing away at the heinous crimes he had committed.

Sylvester spoke his plan to the musician as he analysed each of the clippings one by one, "It's a great plan and I am all for it, but there is one thing that just clicked in my head" Klinghoffer said as he stood up from his chair and walked over to the wall of clippings. "A good few of these mention missing people from the slums, all of the missing persons that are in Water 7 have been reported to have gone missing within this area" He says confidently as he pulls out his map of water 7, pulls out a pen and draws a triangle in the slums, it was no surprise to Klinghoffer that the triangle he had just drew connected all 3 of the X's that they had already marked previously. "I'm starting to rethink my previous hunch, I think that the places marked by X's aren't just where the slaves are stored but are markers of the zone that the goons under Uther Lance's control have territorial jurisdiction over"

He sits back down in his chair and scratches his head with the back of the pen, thinking intensely. "If we were to start racking up a metaphorical body count per se, I would say that this area is most likely the place we should start. If we are game enough though, I would like to think that we should get any information we need from the X in Slaughter Row, given its location they must be hiding something good, and with a fair bit of protection too" Klinghoffer conspires with a focused expression.

Sylvester Sweet examined both the map and the clippings, mulling over Klinghoffer’s theory of the map. It wasn’t all that far fetched to theorize that a prominent shipwright company based in Water 7 might hold control over criminal elements in that area. Especially if Uther had ties to criminals across the sea, other contacts besides Rascal Stone, it would certainly benefit them if he had his own region in which they’d be safe from authorities. Had Sylvester’s preliminary investigation really looked over something so significant?

“If the Red Forest Company controlled this triangle,” Sylvester said, “he’d need more than just his few shipwrights to maintain control.” The cowboy reflected over the day the pair of them had experienced. “Uther would need influence over the authorities, which we know he has. Patrols in this area were insane after I confronted his home base earlier today. And, he’d probably have a lasso ‘round less than upstanding residents of the triangle as well,” Sylvester shook his head, embarrassed for himself. Of course it was no strange coincidence he’d run into some random gang in the middle of his path earlier. “He’d be leading sheep like those Canal Claim Jumpers! Partner, I think you may have just exposed this whole show.”

These mounting revelations brought unprecedented clarity to Sylvester’s mind. Now, things had become as simple as possible. Every figure who obstructed their path that night was more than likely an enforcer of Uther Lance’s triangle. Even Rascal Stone’s pirates had probably been enlisted for that very same purpose. Now, every hat in this story had a color.

“Freeing more people onto the streets of Water 7 is sure to cause me one mad headache,” Sylvester admitted, recalling the turmoil that slave escape had brought him. “But, if you’re right, partner, then it’s sure to cause our two black hats here some thoughts far more awful than my own.”

Resolved to see Slaughter Row as the setting of their next victory, Sylvester figured only one more thing could further help to clarify the evening plans.

“Partner,” he addressed, before moving to the back of his safehouse, looking for a specific item. “I reckon it’s high time I let you in on this little morsel I’ve got here,” and Sylvester unfolded a great black flag, a Jolly Roger. On the fabric was a skull topped with a ten gallon hat, reminiscent of the one on Sylvester’s head, and crossed with two revolvers behind it. “I’m the captain of a lil’ rodeo entitled the Six Barrel Pirates,” he explained, holding up the flag to show off it’s painstaking logo. “I don’t know how you feel working with a pirate captain, but I ain’t about to change. And, I know you’ve got your lil’ shows you perform, but, if you’re looking for steady work, then I’ve no doubt my crew’s got an opening for a cowboy such as yourself,” he explained with a smile, setting down the flag atop his table.

“I started this crew to bring cleanliness to this age,” Sylvester went on, “I saw the world, and was blinded by the great fire that consumed this age. And, to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t like it. The Grand Line needs a pirate at the top who can lay down control across the vast ocean, and I plan to fill that void, and fix this here mess the Grand Line’s found herself in, no matter who likes it, or who wants to stop me,” the cowboy took a deep breath, and ran a gentle hand across the Jolly Roger. “I s’pose I’m asking, partner, what’ve you got to say about all that?”

Klinghoffer's eyes tracked Sylvester as he walked to the back of the warehouse and started to scrounge for something, his eyes moved to his hands as he picked up a large folded piece of black cloth. He knew immediately what the cloth was and he his interest was immediately piqued, he leaned forward in his chair and put his chin on top of his fist in a Thinker position. As the cowboy unravelled the cloth it revealed a jolly roger with a distinct type of hat that was sitting right on Sylvester's head, he listened to his proposal and thought it over. Not only is his crew doing good for the Grand Line, but this could be my stairway to heaven, my way to musical stardom The musician thought to himself as he heard the words “I s’pose I’m asking, partner, what’ve you got to say about all that?”

"Before anything else is said partner, I'm in." Klinghoffer responds confidently "I believe that the Grand Line needs fixing too, on my own I could only kickstart the hearts of the people I came across, together... we can kickstart the world and change the course of history." The musician stands up from his chair and looks at the flag, What did you say the name was, Six Barrel Pirates? Heh... I like it, has a ring to it." With a thrust of his shoulder, he swung his guitar around off of his back and into his hands and with a powerful strum he played a mighty chord along with blues licks and sung
"Six Barrels,
Six Witnesses,
No Survivors!"

"I think that this is going to be a magnificent friendship" he has as he swings his guitar back over his shoulder, now that the pleasantries had been exchanged it was back to business. I'd say it's high time to shift into overdrive and cut some Red Forest saplings down to size. The Six Barrel train is pulling into the station and it's packing heat." Klinghoffer declares with confidence. He stands in front of the wall of clippings, moving his finger from each one like he was playing Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. "Where should we start putting these fools 6 feet under? Maybe we should make Slaughter Row into an area where people won't be afraid of gang violence, or should we clean up the fools who make people pay for protection... I think I'll leave that up to you Boss" The musician says as he turns to the captain for his input.

Punctuated by a fine little rhythm, Sylvester Sweet’s pirate crew had just grown one Klinghoffer more powerful. The Six Barrel Pirates had gathered more steam. And, its newest member was correct. It was high time that decisive action spell the end of this evening. At the conclusion of the guitarist’s suggestions, Sylvester’s hands returned to his flag, neatly folding up the Jolly Roger before hiding it away once more. “Let’s put an end to Slaughter Row, partner! For such a pretty town to have such an ugly tumor is a disgrace! We’ll put an end to Uther Lance, to ‘Tight Noose,’ Red Forest Company, Under Station, and every black hat that gets in our way!”

Having donned a new outfit and re energized by his successful invitation, Sylvester emerged from his safe house, clear intention in his heart. The same light, simple conviction that had convinced him to leave the West Blue now pushed him to take action on Water 7. There was a great, heaping mess out there, and Sylvester needed to clean it up. There was nothing more complicated about it.

Considering how much chaos was probably going down in Uther Lance’s little triangle, the area just outside of the region was surprisingly peaceful. The evening was late, and most people seemed to be hidden away in their bedrooms, or tucked away in their corner of the island. The streets looked completely barren of life save for Sylvester and Klinghoffer. But, that tranquility was disrupted by a voice not far off from the pair.

“They’re just this way! I saw where they ran off! C’mon, ain’t it your job to sack chumps like this?! They tried to drown my gang!”

Another, more serious and far calmer voice replied to the pleas, “It’s your job to ‘sack chumps,’ as you put it. We only came out ‘cause you said it was an emergency. Now if you’ll excuse us, the boss needs us to help solve a much more pressing issue.”

“Don’t you see?” the voice asked, loud and raspy. The pair of pirates were slowly and steadily approaching the discussion, with each voice growing a bit louder. “These guys are the problem! They’re probably the ones responsible for that whole mess!”

“You got any proof, Chameleon?”

Sylvester decided that was cue enough for their grand entrance. He rounded a corner at the question, coming into eyeline of the gangster and two shipwrights bearing their Red Forest Company pins. The Canal Chameleon’s eyes went wide with recognition.

“No need for evidence, stranger,” the cowboy said, keeping his tone even and calm. “Every word is true. Your whole fiasco is the work of the Six Barrel Pirates, and I’m the captain. You’re free to call me Sylvester Sweet, and I’m just pleased as punch to make your acquaintance.”

Klinghoffer followed his new captain out of the safe house and into the streets, both of the pirates with a spring in their step and a goal to reach. The pair walked into the one-sided argument, the cowboy in front and Klinghoffer right behind him, he stepped out from behind Sylvester and watched Chameleon's expression change from astonishment to fright. "T-That's the guy that messed up my crew! The one with the crappy guitar!" Chameleon said in fright as he quivered where he stood. With a loud Twang! Klinghoffer played his Double Stop Destruction and sent out a sound wave from his guitar, blasting chameleon off of his feet and onto the cold floor. "Ah.. Pardon me, where are my manners, Klinghoffer Yamamoto at your service" The musician says as he takes a bow, "That there was just to lay down some rules, you can disrespect me as much as you would like, but nobody disrespects my Layla like that you hear?"

Klinghoffer slings his guitar over his shoulder and takes a few steps forward, his head level and his hair slightly obscuring his face. "Now you two wouldn't happen to be one of those Red Forest boys would ya?"

"A-And what if I am, punk?!" The first shipwright said, slightly intimidated by the pair. "Heh, you may scare Gecko here but not me pal, your fancy guitar tricks don't scare me kid." the other says with a more confident tone than his counterpart. Klinghoffer walked towards the two with a loose and nimble stance as if he was preparing to avoid any enemy attacks that might be swung. "You see, guys we don't want to kill ya, we just want to put you in your place. This could have been avoided if you just didn't respond to your friend, Chameleon was it?"

"That's enough of your ramblings kid, I'm going to set you straight!" The second Red Forest worker said as he rushed forward and swung a punch aimed at the musician's head. His swing was wide and was easily avoidable, Klinghoffer stepped around him and let him pass straight by him, the shipwright was confused on what happened and looked left and right to try and find where the pirate had gone. "Ahem, maybe try less swing and more control next time" Klinghoffer said as he tapped on the worker's shoulder, he felt a bit bad for the shipwright and his poor performance. "Maybe a little tag team will put you two in place, Whaddaya say Syl?"

Sylvester Sweet smiled at Klinghoffer’s proposition. A truly coordinated effort sounded like exactly what would solve the little problem before them. While Klinghoffer toyed with his combatant, Sylvester pulled free his rope, ready to begin his own fight.

“Oh! Dust Commander!”

His rope lashed out, sending up a column of dust and pebbles beneath the feet of the other shipwright. The company man made the mistake of looking down at where Sylvester’s rope had struck, meaning every bit of the technique found its way into his eyes with what was surely a painful stinging. Eyes blinded by the rope trick, Sylvester dashed forward at what felt like a leisurely pace. Against a foe with clear eyes, his movements would be tricky to follow, and against a blinded enemy, it was almost disappointingly easy to catch him off guard.

Sylvester planted a foot into the spot where his rope had struck, ceasing the motion of his body with the exception of a single fist, buried deep in the shipwright’s gut. Again, the cowboy’s attack pushed his opponent backwards, giving Sylvester the opportunity to make another dash, this time planting his foot just to the left of the shipwright. From that pivot foot, he swung his other leg around, undercutting the combatant with a long sweep kick. But, the combination didn’t end there.

With his kicking leg, Sylvester raised his foot above the opponent, just beginning to collide with the stone sidewalk of Water 7. His heavily muscled body bounced off the clean stone, giving the man a bit of lift after his harsh fall. Sylvester seized the opportunity and swung his leg down like a gavel, forcing the man back down to the stone with a short yelp of pain, followed by a slow groan.

Back in the West Blue, a flurry of movements like that would’ve been overkill for the rare prankster or cattle rustler that came by his farm. But, out here on the Grand Line, even this anonymous enforcer took the beating surprisingly well, still conscious. It seemed to be proof that boys on the Grand Line were bred more hardy than the four Blues. Or, perhaps it was simply evidence that Sylvester had a long ways to go before he could achieve the dream that incessantly itched at his mind.

The Canal Chameleon had taken stock of the situation rather swiftly, and took off running, either for more reinforcements or simply an escape from the losing battle. Sylvester had no intention of letting any of these three make their getaway, however, and pulled his sidearm from its leather holster, taking careful aim and squeezing the trigger. The well placed shot leveled the ‘gecko,’ as Klinghoffer had put it, blood flowing from his leg.

Looking back over at the guitarist, Sylvester merely said, “We ready to get a move on yet, partner?”

The first shipwright turned around, angered by the inadequacy of his fighting skills, the shipwright began to charge at Klinghoffer but this time to tackle him to the ground. "A minor inversion would make this too easy partner" he said as he dodged out of the charge, leaving one foot for the uncoordinated oaf to trip over. The shipwright started to slow his pace when he couldn't see the musician or the foot that lay below him, as the shipwright stumbled along he tripped right over Klinghoffer's foot just as planned and fell flat on his face. "Well that was easy" The musician said with a chuckle, he stomped his shoe onto the shipwright's face, squishing it into the ground. "I'm a lover, not a fighter you see, unlike my friend over there, all I want are answers" Klinghoffer says to convince the shipwright. "Ahem, uhh Mr Yamamoto was it? I'm sure we can come to an agreement of some sort!"

"Your boss, Uther Lance, where is he? Now would be preferable" Klinghoffer said as he squished his boot in a bit harder. "T-The Hideout in Slaughter Row! He's waiting for his business partner there! Just stop hurting me please!" The shipwright shrieks in pain, with a smile, the musician relieves his foot from the shipwrights head and picks him up. "You seem like a reasonable guy, what's your name? Clyde? I'm going to call you Clyde. Well Clyde, my friend over there isn't too fond of loose ends as you can see..." he says, dusting the shipwright off as Sylvester shoots the 'gecko' in the leg, "I'm sure that we can let you go and you won't say nothin' about this incident here right? Just leave Red Forest before things get messy for your ol' boss now huh?"

"Yes sir, Mr Yamamoto sir, thank you. I'll work a good life from now on sir." The shipwright thankfully said with a total change of attitude from their first meeting, waved them off as he sprinted away as fast as he possibly could. "I'd say we're off to that hideout then huh? Dispose of a noteworthy shipwright and disband this whole shenanigan." Klinghoffer said as he looked to his partner with a grin on his face

Sylvester Sweet gripped the handle of his revolver tightly, raising it at the side of his hip. Thoughts of the disturbances and messes this rogue shipwright could cause filled his imagination to the very brim. It wasn’t at all sensible to let this loose end float away while he had the chance to tie it down. Out of his peripheral vision, the cowboy caught a glance of the musician watching his foe make his escape. If he squeezed the trigger, he’d be declaring his way of life superior to his own crew mate’s decision. If it was anyone else, Sylvester wouldn’t hesitate, but here, he found himself conflicted.

When Klinghoffer spoke, Sylvester holstered the gun. He was almost scared the power this near stranger had over him. What exactly was changing? At the guitarist’s proposition, Sylvester could only nod, hardly trusting his own voice to speak the right answers. 

He led the way for the two of them to head towards Slaughter Row, finally looking about for where there was supposed to be the last ‘X’ on the map. As they grew close to the destination, a a trail was before them, littered with bodies. Sylvester recognized a few slaves from the prison that Klinghoffer had opened, still wearing chains and rags, and now lying unconscious or dead. Less common was the body of a battered pirate or shipwright. Clearly they’d arrived far after the commotion had concluded. Following this trail, Sylvester finally saw a smoky tavern, with a chorus of muffled yelling from inside its walls and boarded up windows. 

In front of the door were a number of pirates and shipwrights, huddled in a perimeter around the building. Unfortunately, among the dozen or so men and women, there seemed to be no leader. Rascal Stone and Uther Lance were both absent from their collection. 

To Klinghoffer, Sylvester spoke as the pair of pirates approached, “Seems we’re either early or late, partner,” he said, “No matter the answer, we get a chance to thin out the herd. Hope you don’t mind me taking the first crack!” Sylvester shouted, catching the collective attention of the enemies. 

“Initial Trick!”

Sylvester threw a loop of his rope towards the shipwright at the front of the enemy’s charge. Wrapping it around his torso, he wrenched his own body to the left to throw the shipwright towards the side and catching the pirate running alongside his target. With that movement he’d knocked aside the both of them for a moment, further detracting from the charging force. He reeled back the rope from the shipwright’s body, but pulled out Trust to fire from his hip.

Dropping his rope for a moment, Sylvester manipulated the revolver with two hands, firing away six rounds into the crowd, and tagging more pirates and shipwrights with that barrage. Breaking open his sidearm, he dropped out the empty shells to reload the gun. 

“Howdy, partner,” he remarked casually. “You mind giving me a bit of breathing room here?”

As the pair arrived at the scene they noticed the abnormally large body count just lying on the floor, Klinghoffer looked at the crowd that surrounded the tavern and realised that they were too far away for him to do anything useful. “Howdy, partner, you mind giving me a bit of breathing room here?” Sylvester remarked.
"Guess I'll have to get closer to do that" The musician responded as he began to sprint towards the crowd as fast as he could, however as he did he caught a glimpse of a shining light from the corner of his eye, the shine of a silver revolver reflected the rising sun's rays straight into Klinghoffer's eye. He took evasive maneuvers and slid along the ground, grabbing a corpse and hiding behind it as protection, "A shootout at dawn, how blessed can we get?" The musician said to himself, the revolver unloaded hits barrel, firing six shots straight into the meat shield.

As soon as he heard the gunfire stop Klinghoffer got up and ran once more and hid behind a crate, finally within range of attacking. He swung Layla around off of his back and into his clutches, a loud Twang! could be heard as the musician stepped out from cover and played a Double Stop Destruction, the short burst of sound flew over the puddles of corpses that lined the brick street and over to the pirate holding the revolver. The revolver wielding pirate and 2 behind him were taken out by the blast as Klinghoffer ran out into the middle of the street and stood on top of a shipwright corpse, "Let's play something for ol' Funky G" The standoffish pirate said as he played a syncopated strumming pattern of Minor Inversion Triads, silencing the rowdy opponents and halting their advances.

"Take your pick Syl, as many bastards as you see fit to kill. As for me, I believe that losing a fight is like shattering someone's dreams, which to me is a fate worse than death. So I'm to take that revolver off of that poor bastards hands, so nobody shatters my dreams if you know what I mean" Klinghoffer spouted victoriously as he walked over to the unconscious body of the pirate, ripping the half reloaded silver revolver out of their hands. As the musician was picking up the revolver, one of the pirates that were knocked down behind the unconscious man had regained consciousness and drew her revolver and aimed it at him with her hands shaking. Klinghoffer turned his torso to the woman and with a loud Bang! he shot the gun out of her hand and onto the floor, "Just go home, you're not even worth my time" He spoke down to her, turning away and walking back to the entrance of the tavern.