The figure of Guiles was silhouetted against the dim light of a flickering oil lamp, her hunched form etched with determination. The map before her was worn and weathered, the table under it rough-hewn and recently made. Her brow furrowed as she traced a finger along a winding path, feeling every bump and catch as the real world obstacles they represented, her lips moving silently as she calculated distances and weighed options. Around her gathered a handful of her most trusted allies, their faces grim and determined in the dim glow.
Around her, a small group of devoted allies gathered, their faces hardened and determined in the dimly lit room. These were not just followers; they were comrades forged through years of training at her father's dojo. She trusted them implicitly, knowing their strengths and weaknesses like the back of her hand. As for the others who had joined her cause, they were still learning, but Guiles was grateful for their support nonetheless. Yet in this critical moment, everyone had their place, and theirs was not at this war council.
With a sinking feeling Guiles continued to trace a finger along a winding path, her brow furrowed in concentration. She did the math in her head, how easy were they to spot, how long would it take for enemies to engage, the condition of her forces. Her finger made it to the bay where Maddox was hold up and when she thought about the fight, with absolute honesty, in her mind they lost again. It was another dead end. She stopped the trace with a bitter sigh, leaving room for her council to be heard.
"If we move our forces along this route," one of the men began, tapping a series of marks, but she cut him off. "The marines will see us, broadside us, wipe us out to a man, and claim we were rebels."
“Like I said before-” started her second in command, and Guiles gaze snapped to the man, locking him in place. “If the next words out of your mouth are ‘follow the coastline’ again, remember that I have more rope.”
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All eyes turned to the boy bundled in a pile of the aforementioned rope in the corner of their cramped hut. Eliot was bound and silenced, form tightly secured to a sturdy wooden post. A rough cloth had been wrapped around his head, blinding him and plunging him in darkness. His ears were stuffed with wads of fabric, dulling his senses to the world around him. Typically, Guiles would have deemed this enough precautions, but as the boy possessed a devil fruit power of unknown strength, she also gagged him as an extra measure of safety.
“He might be able to get there, unseen by marines and rebels, unexpected by the Mad Dog.” Guiles’ second offered.
“No one can get there through the woods.” One whispered knowingly. Everyone had lost someone to those woods.
“He got here.” Riles stated as fact, not leaning one way or the other.
“How much of that was luck?” It was a reasonable question.
The group gave the ragged boy a more than cursory glance. He looked like the dregs of a man had washed up on shore and then had a hell of a day, and that was before getting tied up.
Riles unwadded the crinkled map the boy claimed to have used to find them, tracing the crisscrossed trails with raised eyebrows of odd shapes and nonsense descriptions. One would have to be mad to make any sort of sense out of the scribbles. Maybe madness is exactly what it took to achieve the insane.
“He’s got a devil fruit power. Might be nice to have in a fight.” Riles’ second could feel her teetering one way.
“Wasn’t much help against us.” She countered.
“He didn’t fight us all that much.”
Guiles looked between her own map and the one the stranger had brought. On her’s most paths ended before they even made it to the cove Made Dog Maddox was holed up in, all ended before before she got to pay him back for sending her friends to their deaths.
She couldn’t get a read on the other, and to her that meant there was hope, that there was a chance.
“think he’ll help after what we did to him?”
“Only one way to find out.”