Chapter 65: Tom
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The vibrant city gradually gave way to a quieter, shadier part of Water 7. The buildings here were still an architectural wonder, but their grandeur was worn out by the passage of time, their vibrant colors faded under the relentless sun.
The people, too, were different. Their clothes were tattered, their faces etched with the hardness of life. Yet they moved with a purpose, their every motion indicating a life steeped in hardship and resilience.
Jack entered a pub, its dimly lit interior filled with hushed whispers and the smell of cheap liquor. "I'm looking for Tom," he announced, his voice firm and clear amidst the dull hum of conversation.
The patrons turned to look at him, their eyes scrutinizing the stranger who dared to disrupt their peace. There was a beat of silence, the air growing heavy with anticipation, before a gruff voice broke the tension. "Why are ya lookin' for 'im?" the man asked, his gnarled hand clutching a dirty mug of ale.
"I need a shipwright," Jack responded calmly, his gaze unwavering under the man's scrutiny.
"Tom ain't available," another voice chimed in, a sneer curling his lips. "He's a Fishman, ain't suited for your kind."
The statement hung in the air, the undercurrents of bigotry clear. Yet Jack remained unperturbed, his calm blue eyes reflecting an ocean's depth of patience. "I'm not concerned about his race. I'm interested in his skills," he responded, his voice steady.
The pub fell into a tense silence, the patrons' eyes flitting between Jack and the man who had spoken. The man, a burly figure with a hardened face, scowled at Jack's response. "He ain't worth your time," he grumbled, but his words lacked the conviction of his previous statement.
To this, Jack felt a rare ripple of anger surge within him. Rising from his chair, he moved towards the man with a predator's grace, his eyes darkening from the tranquil blue of a calm sea to the stormy hue of a tempest. The chattering in the pub came to an abrupt halt, replaced by an uneasy hush.
Reaching the man, Jack grabbed his collar. The burly figure, taken aback by the sudden confrontation, attempted to push Jack away. However, his hands might as well have been trying to move a mountain. Jack's grip was unwavering, solid as iron, his strength making the man's attempts futile.
"You don't get to measure the worth of my time," Jack said, his voice low and deadly. The words were not shouted, but they resonated in the silent pub, the threat evident. "Now, stop wasting my time with your worthless presence and tell me where I can find him."
The man gazed into Jack's eyes, the stormy hue a mirror to the anger beneath his calm exterior. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he licked his dry lips, visibly cowed. "He's… he's at workshop of his," he stammered, "At the back of the island, near the dumbster."
Leaving behind the tense silence of the pub, Jack made his way towards the back of the island. The vibrant streets gradually gave way to worn out buildings and narrow alleyways, the lively atmosphere replaced by the heavy silence of neglect and abandonment. The thriving cityscape that was Water 7 felt distant here, replaced by the stark reality of the forgotten outskirts. Despite this, Jack pressed on, his steps steady, his calm demeanor unfaltering.
The man's directions led him to a cluttered area filled with rusted machinery, castoff materials, and piles of scrap metal. Amidst the chaos, Jack could see the neat organization of a small workshop, a beacon of purpose in the sea of discarded debris.
As Jack neared the workshop, his eyes took in the sight of the Fish-Man. Tom was a large, imposing figure. His horns and sharp teeth made him stand out amongst the humans of Water 7, and his yellow skin shimmered in the sunlight. Despite his appearance, the Fish-Man seemed to be in his element in the midst of the cluttered workshop.
Tom was hunched over a workbench, his large hands carefully handling a set of tools. Beside him were two boys. The elder one, a serious-looking kid named Iceburg, was watching Tom with rapt attention. The younger one, a rough-and-tumble kid named Franky, was busy sorting through a pile of discarded parts.
Approaching the trio, Jack cleared his throat, his voice steady, "I'm looking for Tom."
At his words, the activity in the workshop stilled. Tom straightened, his large frame casting an imposing shadow. His gaze, sharp and scrutinizing, fell on Jack.
"I'm Tom," he replied, his voice deep and resonating. The intensity in his gaze did not falter, the stare-off continuing for a moment before Tom broke the silence. "Who's asking?"
"I am Jack," Jack introduced himself, his voice firm. "I'm looking for a shipwright."
At his words, the stern expression on Tom's face softened slightly, curiosity replacing the guarded look. "Why do you want a shipwright?" he questioned, his gaze probing.
Jack looked at Tom and then explained, his voice steady and devoid of unnecessary emotion, "I have a unique boat, but I want to upgrade it. I heard that your skills are beyond any others." A faint grin pulled at the corner of his lips. With a wave of his hand, he summoned the Bead Rider.
The boat appeared in a burst of energy, its sleek frame and streamlined design instantly catching the eyes of Tom, Iceburg, and Franky. Its hardened wooden hull was glossy and dark, like the color of deep ocean water under the moonlight. It was compact and modest in size, about 20 feet long and 6 feet wide, yet its simplicity didn't subtract from its elegance.
The most striking feature of the Bead Rider was the soft, pulsating glow emanating from its underbelly, casting an ethereal light onto the floor of the workshop. The glow was tranquil, not bright or blinding, but it hinted at a source of immense power nestled within the boat.
The workshop fell silent, their eyes captivated by the majestic sight of the Bead Rider. Jack allowed them to take it in, standing next to his boat with an air of calm and quiet pride.
"Is that…?" Iceburg began to ask, his eyes wide with disbelief. He was interrupted by Franky, who had rushed to the boat, his curiosity winning over his shock.
"It's awesome!" Franky exclaimed, his hands hovering above the boat, too awestruck to touch it. "What's that glow?"
Jack turned his gaze from the boat to Franky, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. "It's a unique energy that I use to power the boat," he responded.
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