Well, this was embarrassing as all hell.

Flint gritted his teeth, biting back a yowl of pain as his hands momentarily slipped and he scrambled to find purchase on the craggy rock wall he'd had the misfortune to skid down moments before. The nerves lining his palms screamed, shocked red and raw from the flinty surface; he could feel the jagged slices of skin that were no doubt missing, the tepid blood welling up in their place and soaking the rock just beneath his trembling hands. He slipped again with a gasp and fell another few feet before he could hook his hands on the edge of a deep crevice, grinding his descent to a shuddering halt. More blood leaked from his cracked fingernails, and he cursed sharply beneath his panting breaths.

He'd been stupid. Of course he had. That was his trademark, his imbecilic tendencies. They were genetic, apparently, and until now he'd reveled in the fact that he shared something with perhaps both his parents. Now his heritage was going to get him killed.

Sounds about right, he thought to himself, cracking a shadow of a grin, which quickly waned into a fierce grimace. 

He bit harshly into his lower lip to clamp down on the cry he felt building up in the back of his throat. He was sixteen, nearly seventeen; screaming himself hoarse wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Certainly crying had no foreseeable benefits. If he was going to get out of this, he had to keep a tight leash on his emotions, because losing himself now was only going to guarantee he'd end up a splattered stain on the outcropping of rocks below.

C'mon, c'mon, think ya foolhardy bastard. What would Ma or Pa do if they were in this mess...? Probably call for help, in Ma's case. She's stubborn but she ain't an idiot. Pa, on the other hand... 

But where his father fell short in common sense, he made up for it ten times over in pure, raw talent and physical prowess. Flint took more after his mother in terms of strength and endurance despite their dissimilar builds. Which meant he'd have to use his brains this time round.

It was, truth be told, something of a daunting prospect for him.

The face of the cliff offered no clear solutions just by glancing at it; there were handholds galore but none of them within reach, and none that formed any sort of feasible path up to the top. Or even down to sea level, a route that Flint gladly would have taken if it was possible. He just wanted off this damn cliff, to be able to plant his feet on solid ground. Oh, he was never going to take the sensation of having firm, compacted earth beneath his shoes for granted again; hell, he was planning to kiss the damn dirt if he survived this.

Flint craned his neck to peer down below, looking once more for any path he might have missed in his brief scan of the area. Going downward seemed safer, in that the further he got in his climbing, the less of a fall he'd have to endure if he lost his footing in the wrong spot. Cold gray waves crashed relentlessly into the cliff face, showering the rocks with frigid mist and globs of discolored seaweed. A foul stench tickled the inside of Flint's nose and he resisted the urge to sneeze, burying his nose into his shoulder. If he had to guess, he'd say some poor creature got slammed into the rocks and bled out while trapped by the waves. The mournful aroma did not give him much confidence.

He looked around again, praying he'd see something of use. His fingers ached, his palms burned with hell fire. The muscles of his upper arms told him some time ago that they'd be clocking out soon enough. He wouldn't last much longer, and at the rate he was bleeding, he wasn't even sure he could risk making a move without losing his abysmally tiny perch. 

"Oi, mate! Yer lookin' like ya could use a hand!"

Flint squinted against the glaring sun to make out the vague, inky outline of a man leaning over the edge of the cliff, a glinting white curve of a smile carved from his tanned face.

"Val--" He caught himself, swallowing back the name and consciously adjusting his tone. "Vesper, ain't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Vesper shoulders shook with silent laughter - silent to Flint, anyway; the wind sweeping upwards from the ocean made hearing anything softer than a shout impossible. The man cupped a hand around his mouth and called down, "I'd ask if ya chased some girlie off the edge, but it's not as funny when it's true." 

He gestured toward where Flint could just spot (without turning his head) a blade dangling by the strap of its leather scabbard from a thin, wiry branch jutting from the rock. It hung precariously some fifteen feet above Flint's head, depressingly out of reach but tantalizingly close. If only he'd come down a bit to the right...

Flint grinned impishly, as best he could, anyway, what with the searing pain in his hands and the slow burn taking hold of his muscles, growing hotter and less bearable the longer he clung to the cliff in this awkward position. 

"That gal's worth more to me than my life," he ground out from between clenched teeth. He'd meant to sound witty and jovial as he said it, but the direness of his situation intervened and forced the words out as a condemning hiss. 

"Mate, mate, mate," Vesper groaned, shaking his head in the manner of one tsking a petulant child, "yer life can't be worth much if that's the down payment. But that's not why I'm here. The crossdresser's kid 'contracted' me to find ya, paid me with everything they had on 'em. And no, before ya ask, I don't feel bad about taking it. Yer just lucky I'm quick, 'cause I imagine Valor wouldn't have been as willing to risk his neck for ya. Hold on for a bit, alright?"

Flint waited - rather impatient, in all honesty, and really, who could blame him? - while Vesper tied off a rope he'd brought for the occasion around a sturdy tree growing halfway out of the cliff. Satisfied it would bear his weight, he looped the other end through the belt loops of his pants, making quick work of another fanciful knot, then took his first step over the edge.

Flint's heart rattled noisily in his chest, stopped altogether for a breathless moment as he waited for the rope to snap, for Vesper to plummet at a breakneck pace - but the moment never came, and Vesper cheerfully announced that he was a genius with anything involving handiwork as he picked his way down to Flint, pushing off the rock wall and gracefully landing again in smooth, fluid movements that Flint couldn't help but envy. 

Though he protested, Flint was eventually coerced onto Vesper's back (with the man claiming that it would be like carrying a sack of twigs) so that he wouldn't have to ruin his already ragged hands (though he wasn't proud of it, he couldn't deny the sigh of relief that left his lips, which he was all too aware of Vesper picking up on). Flint once more gritted his teeth as he hung from Vesper's back, arms strung around the man's neck and knees hugging his sides; Vesper, in turn, kept throwing cheeky smiles over his shoulder as he scaled the cliff, pulling himself up by the rope that saved him from freefalling, and Flint really could have gone without.

"I'll give back the money," Vesper promised minutes later, while Flint lay sprawled on the sparse, brown grass, arms thrown haphazardly to either side, eyes closed and chest vibrating with his racing heartbeat. He paused. "Eventually. That kid should learn sooner rather than later that life's a bitch. I've got nothing better to do, might as well teach 'em."

Flint opened one eye, glared heatedly at Vesper for a moment, then returned to his brooding, throwing an arm over his eyes to shadow them from the unrelenting sun. He shouldn't be surprised; Vesper's nature had become crystal clear over the years, though their first meeting had left Flint with an unfavorable impression of the ravenette. 

"Yer in over yer head, Edan."

Without bothering to watch him, Flint tracked Vesper by the sound of his voice as he crossed the barren ground, appearing to pause close to the cliff's edge. 

"I might be," Flint conceded, tempted but unwilling to voice a complaint about his use of the name Edan. Flint suited him perfectly, whereas Edan... left something be to desired, in his opinion. "But that's part of my charm, ain't it?"

Vesper hummed something that didn't completely disagree with Flint's point but said nothing else. Only the quiet thrum of the beating sea broke the silence that struck up between them, and the gentle song nearly lulled Flint to sleep before a shadow fell over him. He blinked open his eyes, his expression going slack.

"Here, can't have my captain weaponless, now can I?"

Vesper neatly placed the sword - handle first - into Flint's waiting hands and the redheaded teen jolted into a sitting position, cradling the blade to his chest and cooing words of comfort even as Vesper's lips curled in a disbelieving sneer. Flint paid him no mind. He'd been raised to care greatly for his sword and the spirit it housed, and to care little for those who questioned his sanity. Both Vesper and Valor accepted, to a degree, the existence of Reimei's soul, but Flint had begun to suspect they more believed in his belief. Reimei was more than just a sword to Flint, and the ravenette let it be at that. Flint supposed he couldn't ask for much better, really, what with all the scorn his mother had endured even from her own friends once she had fully disclosed her sword's nature to them.

"Underestimating me, are ya?" Flint chuckled, tucking Reimei into her scabbard, which he then slipped over his shoulder, cinching the buckle tight over his chest. "I may've inherited some fancy swordplay from Ma and Pa, but my real passion's in making all sorts of fun things go boom."

This remark earned him quite the sharp retort from Reimei in the form of a spastic trill vibrating up the length of his spine, and he only just succeeded in checking the involuntary jerk that would have had him resembling a violent epileptic. Vesper already had enough reason to doubt his validity as captain, he didn't want to add any fuel to the fire with a seemingly unprovoked fit.

"Yer fireworks?" Vesper's smile was cheerful but the mirth failed to reach his chromatic silver eyes. "Mate, yer not yer mum, if ya haven't noticed." Without waiting for a response (aware none would be forthcoming), he forged ahead, "I'm gettin' off-track again, ya bastard. I meant to tell ya that the kid's waiting for us by the boat. We're a-go for take-off whenever yer willing."

Though in that moment Flint was vehemently reminded of his reasoning as to why he hadn't pictured Vesper or Valor as a member of his crew, he obediently picked up himself up and followed the black-haired renegade away from the cliffside. They strode through the small merchant village, silent save for the curse Vesper muttered when a shifty-eyed pedestrian bumped his shoulder. Flint eyed him as they walked. For years he'd grown up watching Vesper, Valor too, and yet he couldn't make heads or tails of their situation. His parents didn't understand it any better, as far as he knew, and Vesper's adopted family weren't bothered despite not knowing what caused the split. He didn't exactly want to know - he wasn't particularly interested in the in-depth analysis of Valor's psyche, and knowing wouldn't exactly change anything. There would still be both Valor and Vesper, and Flint would still have an annoying silver-eyed ass on his crew either way.

They reached the docks just shy of sunset, with the flaming tri-colored sun kissing the horizon and setting the ocean ablaze. Aika was waiting, as she always did, on the bow of their small seafaring vessel, but the moment she caught sight of them ambling down the pier she leaped from her perch and bounded over to meet them.

"Flint, Vesper!" she greeted, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, conscious of the wind having picked up. "I've had the supplies gathered for hours, where have you been?"

Flint coughed into his fist, rubbing his shoulder sheepishly. He'd almost forgotten the events that led to his dangling some fifty feet in the air above frothing waves and lethal, salt-speckled rocks. Vesper keenly observed him through slitted eyes, amusement flickering across his features. Flint was acutely aware of his gaze and shot him a cross, sidelong glance before his gaze settled on Aika again.

"Aw, well, I was..." He coughed again. "I was practising, see, you know how Reimei is, always demandin' I take her out for a spin every day, and... Well, guess I worked myself too hard, 'cause I got all sweaty and my grip on Reimei sorta... loosened and..."

Aika's eyes widened, connecting the dots, as she'd been aware of his plans to make an excursion to the island's famous cliffs. Vesper, on the other hand, had already doubled over in an uproarious fit of explosive laughter, even going so far as to slap his knee.

"Hey!" Flint snapped, raising a clenched fist as if he meant to knock Vesper into submission. "It ain't that funny! I coulda lost Reimei for good, and Ma woulda killed me!"

"Flint, she... slipped out of your hands and went off the cliff... right?"

He looked at Aika, ready to argue that it wasn't that bad, that it could have happened to anyone, but the expression of sincere sympathy coloring her features tempered his desperate retort, and he hung his head, defeated.

"Yeah, that's 'bout it," he sighed.

Vesper continued laughing, having fallen to the ground in his fit, and Flint was sorely tempted to kick him right off the pier. He refrained, of course, but perhaps only because Aika was there. Had he been alone, things may have ended very differently. He was somewhat grateful it was Vesper in control, not Valor, in that moment; Vesper could swim, at least. Valor knew how, but refused to admit it, even to himself. Sometimes Flint thought he tried to pretend Vesper didn't exist, that anything Vesper knew couldn't possibly be contained within his own mind. He wasn't sure it was working, or at least not as well as Valor would have liked. 

"Let... Let's just get going, eh?"

Aika grinned, hooking arms with Flint as she led him aboard their boat; Vesper followed after a few minutes of catching the breath he'd lost.

"Hoist the colors!" he cheered, even as Flint rolled his eyes and Aika patiently explained that they had no colors, seeing as they hadn't even chosen a name for themselves yet, let alone a Jolly Roger. Vesper was unperturbed, apparently, belting out some old sea sea shanty he'd learned from his father from atop the cabin roof, all while Flint and Aika raised anchor and prepared to head out to sea.
While Flint manned the wheel, relying on Aika to make sense of the map they had laid out on the beaten tabletop inside the cabin (and very much trying to drown out the horrible screeching that was Vesper's singing), Aika paused, looking up at him.

"The twins are first?"

"Yup," Flint grinned, turning the wheel two notches per Aika's instructions to change their course. He'd been to Nikko a few times before, but never without Nami to guide him, and he hadn't taken care to memorize a decent route for himself. Then again, with the unpredictability of the Grand Line, maybe it was just as well he was practically winging it. "I can't imagine my crew without 'em."

"Are you sure they'll even want to join, Flint?"

He winced, closing one eye in thought.

"I've thought 'bout it," he admitted, "and I'll bet they'll have their reservations and all, but what'd keep 'em from joining, really? They like adventuring same as the rest of us."

"Yes, they do," Aika agreed, though her tone signaled just how little stock she put into his claim. "But they've never left Nikko - they've never wanted to. And I'm not sure their parents will just hand them over to us, you know how Aoi is."

Flint hummed thoughtfully, resting his arms between the slots of the wheel's spokes and gently turning to match what Aika continued to rattle off to him in the gaps of their discussion. Like he said, he'd thought of this, as many times as he'd thought about making his own crew in the first place. He was well aware that not everyone shared his unyielding enthusiasm for the pirate life, or for continuing on where their parents had left off after the crown was won all those years ago. The twins, especially, were lacking in wanderlust. But he'd win them over. He had to.

He angled his head to catch Aika's eye, another, softer smile curling his lips. She raised a brow in question, and he chuckled.

"I'm not leaving Nikko if those two ain't swabbing the deck," he said, and to her credit, Aika didn't chuck the book being used to weigh down the map at his head for being so obstinate. Just like his damn parents. Instead, she simply shook her head and returned to her temporary task as navigator, and the wheel swung left another two notches, turning them westward and into the blossoming violet light of evening. 

Flint's little band of would-be pirates turned one week old just as the sun sank below the distant waves.