Hey guys, this is my new story 'Night Owls', hope you guys enjoy it and thank you for reading. P.S. if you review and would like a short minor story/mini one shot at the beginning of the story involving my OC Lou and any of the characters (smut, fluff, crack, anything you like) I'll be more than happy to include them in the next chapter!
Thanks xx
Gentle slopes of grass that bent beneath the weight of an incoming breeze and tiny waves that lapped at the stony beach greeted the pirates as they docked at the unmemorable port town with a similarly unmemorable name. A short cobbled path extended its way from the expansive pier network towards the monotonous town up ahead.
Law's eyes drifted across the white washed buildings and up to the blue tiled roofs that every building seemed to share, noting that they almost mimicked the typical Marine garrisons they had previously encountered. Though the presence of a number of small pirate ships littering the piers suggested that the Marine-esque town was rather void of Marines in general. It was not an entirely uncommon occurrence within the Grand Line, although it certainly made coming ashore much safer and general hassle-free (particularly as few small-fry bothered squaring up against the Heart Pirates).
The crew drifted around the submarine and piers, visibly excited by the free sea breeze and warm sun that had become almost a treat due to their extended periods below the surface. Law settled against the railing of the sub, straightening one leg with the other bent at over his knee. The crew functioned like a well-oiled machine due to the familiarity of the routine involved in coming ashore: offload waste, restock, maintain sub, drink and fight, prepare for submersion. Although this particular visit, much like the previous ones, involved an additional step: locate a chef.
Prior to their current chefless status, the cook had jumped ship in a flurry of insults such as 'damn ungrateful bastards' and 'dirty misfit pirates', to which he was promptly forsaken for good. However this meant that the duties of chef being shared amongst the crew members, subsequently resulting in often sloppy or burnt food being served to the crew. And an entire month without the barest palatable meal was beginning to set the men on edge.
Thus Law's mission was to satisfy the crew's growing need for a true cook, if only a temporary cook, began the moment he hopped from the ship's railing to the weather bitten pier. Bepo trailed behind, supporting his captain's lengthy nodachi against his shoulder whilst eagerly sniffing the sea air. On the winds the scents of takoyaki, frying meat, charcoaled fish, steamed clams and crisp stir-fry were carried, causing his mouth to water. Very few port towns smelt like anything other than fish and their discarded entrails, yet this one was positively delicious.
"-epo-ya. Bepo-ya, you're drooling." A smooth voice interrupted his revelry and the polar bear quickly swiped a paw across the corner of his mouth to clear the pooling saliva. "Control yourself."
"Ah sorry, Captain. All this food just smells so good!" Bepo sighed, taking another deep whiff of the air. It was both sweet, like the caramelizing of sizzling onions, and tangy, as if lime and mango had been poured over the open flames. Once again the tell tale drool began to form.
Law sighed, continuing to wear his mask of detached boredom, and continued down the pier. Shachi, Penguin and two other mechanics rocketed by, causing the wooden planks of the pier to shake loose their dust and crusted salt. He rolled his stormy eyes at their antics, though still watched as the knelt to the ground and kissed the dirt at the end of the dock. They cried out and hollered like maniacs, and with arms raised to the air they praised the mighty sunlight. It was a fairly similar routine following extended periods below the surface, generally due to the efforts of Marines. This particularly submersion lasted for nearly two months, as one particular Marine, Captain Therace, seemed hell-bent on their capture. He had latched onto their whereabouts like a rabid dog and followed them for miles until they finally shook him at the Calm Belt.
Nevertheless they had arrived at the aromatic island of Cortula safely and for the better part unharmed, and Law's mission to find a half-decent cook was well under way. He wandered through the narrow cobbled streets inspecting the vendors, café chefs and restaurants with little success. Most were either horribly unhygienic (which irked him to the nth degree) or completely unwilling to allow a pirate to even step foot in their establishments. Though he was more ready to kidnap an unwilling chef than welcome an unhygienic one.
The tall, white washed buildings sported traditional shutters and hanging flower baskets, whilst clothing lines strewn with damp clothing hung suspended overhead. It was picturesque and strangely perfect: no litter or dowsed cigarette buds littered the streets. Only the noise from the town centre echoed through the narrow corridors formed by the buildings, which mainly consisted of bartering and children screaming.
Law sighed in dismay, dragging a tattooed hand across his face before dropping it to his side and thought, This horribly dreary town will be the death of me. No Marines. No decent and willing cooks. Not even another rowdy crew.
For the quiet towns were certainly the worst. Rarely did they hold a pub that housed more the local drunkards and fishermen, and the crew –namely him– would grow restless with the serenity. A bit of harmless fighting was good for the crew to avoid mindless scuffles with civilians or each other. Yet as he meandered through the streets in search of a willing and half-decent chef, it seemed that his hopes would not be fulfilled.
Yet he had only to wander in the direction of the elevated yells of anticipation that sounded suspiciously like his crew, in order to find the sweetest solution to his predicament.
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The sizzle and crackle of bacon and onion on a hot griddle pan was like a beautiful concerto to Lou's ears, and the smell was just as intoxicating. A gentle sea breeze blew through and carried the scent along the extensive queue that had gathered for the lunch special of Lou's Street Style Fried Rice. Fresh bacon and prawns sautéed and seared, with a dash of peanut oil, oyster and Worcestershire sauce, combined with her personal herbs and spices mix. A dash of unrefined brown sugar would liven up the taste without adding excessive calories, which Lou considered important for maintaining a balanced diet.
Its simplicity and cost-effective nature made it an absolute hit with the locals, yet the taste of all her exceptional dishes caused the street food style café Bella Fortuna to boom during the two years she had spent at Cortula. From a poor travelling cook to a proficient business-owning chef, Lou thanked the high powers that the island hadn't experienced much in the way of cuisine aside from overcooked seafood and poorly seasoned Italian. Not that she doubted her cooking prowess, only it enhanced the hype around Bella Fortuna.
Nevertheless, the popularity bred an increasing workload that left her exhausted following the breakfast, lunch and dinner rushes, along with the pressure to develop new dishes for the masses. She continued to sauté the necessary ingredients before passing them off to her assistant Malia, who promptly mixed them with the large one metre pot filled with rice. Next as Malia served the extensive line of customers, noting the strange group of uniformed men that formed a pregnant bulge in the middle of the queue. They jostled each other loudly and squabbled to get in front of one another. Rolling her eyes at their antics she resumed her hectic routine with a fluid grace that was developed only through years of polished kitchen work.
The open air café was exposed the elements, and covered by stand alone umbrellas that shielded patrons from the heavy sun as they sat on cartons and milk crates to eat. Likewise, the cooking station, which consisted of a row of gas burners and a large pot that hovered over a gas fire were exposed, although it added to the aromatic presence of Bella Fortuna. A few rows of planters boxed in the seating area, where patrons sat happily devouring their meals.
Eventually the odd group wearing matching white boiler suits approached the counter and one man with a strange hat saying 'PENGUIN' leant against the counter.
"Hey, kiddo. We'll take seven servings of your fried rice, and double that for beers." The man announced to Lou's kitchen partner.
Malia glanced back nervously at Lou, who had paused from her work at the order. Had they not read the sign, or were they simply choosing to ignore it? The girl, only seventeen tapped the wooden sign the hung just below the metal counter.
"I'm really sorry sir, we only serve one alcoholic drink per customer," she mumbled.
The man glanced back at his companion with a crooked grin before leaning back closer to Malia. "Surely you can make an exception."
As she shook her head in response, her curtain of lilac hair rippled in time. "Chef's orders, sir. If we serve more than one per customer they get rowdy and start disrupting the café."
He bellowed out a laugh and said, "Do we look like light-weights to you?" A few of the others snickered in response, drawing Lou's attention until she turned from the stove to face them. "Pirates ain't weak, sweetheart. And we're the toughest on this little island. Hell, we're the toughest you'll find in these entire seas!"
Malia shot another distressed look at Lou with the mention of 'pirates', and the lightbulb metaphorically ignited in the woman's mind. That explained the strange uniforms that sported an equally strange jolly roger imprinted where the breast pocket should have been. She jerked her head towards the back of the makeshift kitchen area, signaling the young teen to make a swift retreat. The girl did so eagerly, but not without a hushed mewl of fear.
Pirates were not uncommon at Cortula, though usually there were mere small fry that made little impact on the inhabitants. Such petty thugs were simple enough to drive away, though the authority in his voice irked Lou, as if the civilians were so miniscule in comparison to them that they weren't worth physically intimidating. The mere mention of them being pirates was magic enough to get their way without posturing. At least in other towns it would be enough.
Lou curled her lips up in a strained smile, placing a dirty spice-covered hand on her plump hip. "Sorry, champ: one beer per customer. It's policy." She raised her hands in a faux apologetic gesture, narrowing her lips as they slipped down from their smile. His carefree expression dropped at 'champ. "It won't be changing for anyone. Not even pirates."
"Lemme speak to the chef then."
"That'd be me, thanks." She replied, folding her arms over her buxom chest. They were momentarily propped up even more, exposed by the low cut navy singlet she wore until she noticed the drop in his gaze, at which point Lou huffed and rested her palms on the counter. "And the chef will still not be changing her mind."
Another of the pirates, whose bulky green and red casquette sat lopsided on his head, stepped forward in an attempt to take charge of the situation. "Look missy, we just want our food and drink, we'll pay for it and sit quietly."
"Okay first of all: don't call me 'missy' I'm not a child. And second of all: no means no." Lou hissed.
His cocky expression quickly dissolved into a scowl. "Yeah alright, tubby, don't get your panties in a bunch."
The disruptive sound of a metal ladle clanking against the paved floor cut through the sudden silence, accompanied by Malia's shocked gasp as she covered her mouth. What vague background chatter by patrons suddenly fell silent as all attention was brought down to the group of pirates and the woman quivering behind the café front. His eyes stooped to the balled fists Lou held so tightly at her side that her knuckles turned bone white, whilst the muscles in her jaw strained at the force with which she clenched her jaw.
"Aw, Shachi, you never call a woman fat!" The 'PENGUIN' hatted man whispered urgently, eyeing the woman's lowered head. Lou's dark chocolaty hair formed a thick curtain of tresses that covered her livid expression. "You're really in for a mouthful."
Lou's head shot up forcefully, spraying her hair backwards as her shadowed eyes bore into Shachi's. Her fist flew up in front of here in an unspoken challenge, revealing a row of scabbed and bloodied knuckles, and black bruises that littered her hand.
"I'LL BE GIVING YOU MORE THAN A MOUTHFUL BUDDY!" The unmistakable fighting spirit in her eyes ignited, burning brightly through her verbal challenge of the crude pirate.
"B-Bring it on, lady!" He stuttered back, planting a firm boot on the ground in defiance.
"Shachi no you can't fight a woman!" His companion shrieked.
"Let's take this outside," she commanded, pointing to the small cobbled clearing near the café. Beside it was a run down boathouse with grass sprouting at its corners.
Shachi smirked and replied, "We're already are outside."
"OUTSIDE OF THE CAFÉ YOU IDIOT."
He pouted and waved his hand at her. "Fine, I'll humour you! But just let me know when you've had enough."
From behind, Malia popped her head over her employer's shoulder, a small frown on her narrow face. Her brow was knitted closely, emphasising her thin eyebrows. She placed a slender hand on Lou's arm and attempted to pull her back.
"Miss Lou, please don't get so fired up. Mayor Theodor warned you not to-"
The brunette shirked the teenager off dismissively, refusing to breaking eye contact with the detested 'Shachi'. "Yeah well he ain't the one being insulted."
"You don't even know how to fight!"
"Yeah well I can just pound him into the ground!"
"Hah I'd like to see you try," he gloated, placing his finger and thumb below his chin as he peered at Lou's frustrated expression. Shachi's previous name calling attempt of 'tubby' wasn't entirely wrong, as she was certainly… plumper than she cared to be; yet the weight was almost flattering for her broad hips and heart-shaped face.
Shachi traipsed over to the small clearing, watched intently by the patrons and quickly followed by his fellow crew mates. They watched on eagerly to see how he would act in a faux fight against the snappy chef, and stood a small ways away from the assumed fighting circle. A few patrons scampered out to watch the fight also, though they hung back further than the pirates. Malia too joined the circle, gripping her wrist with her right hand and chewing on her bottom lip.
Don't go too over board again, Lou, she thought to herself, Mayor Theodor is going to be beyond mad this time.
"Oi, Lou, don't let these bloody pirates push you around!" A civilian called out, glaring at the looming pirates.
Another pitched in, "Yeah just tap us in if its getting tough."
The woman shot them a broad grin that quickly morphed into a furrowed brow as she turned her attentions to the insulting pirate. "Don't worry, this guy ain't shit."
"OI I'M RIGHT HERE." Shachi barked as he stamped his feet on the ground. He waved his arms hysterically, and Lou simply watched as his face turned bright red with frustration. The comical nature of the action was not lost on the pirate group gathered in the circle, and they bickered with Shachi, commenting on his childish behaviour.
Lou bent her legs slightly in a ready position, placing her fists up in front of her; and in response Shachi snapped to a similar position. "Ladies first."
She shrugged and pounced forward towards him. The cocky grin on his face ultimately betrayed his non-serious approach to the fight which, to Lou's benefit, made him slow. Her fist sailed past his head as Shachi leaned left at the last moment, feeling the pounding of air following Lou's frightening punch that left a cloud of white air in its wake. It quickly dissipated and Lou stumbled on her feet from over extending herself. The pirate gawped at the fist that had so nearly pummeled his face, unable to comprehend the sheer force behind it. Her skill was almost non-existent, luckily for him.
All she needs to do is land one hit and I'm gone, the ginger haired man thought to himself as he jumped back from her, thankfully she's almost useless except for that strength.
Lou steadied herself and faced Shachi, a firm look on her face that manifested itself in a pout. His expression seemed firmer than before, too. The rise and fall of his chest was faster now in reaction to the close blow. Those forming the circle had gone quiet after witnessing the display of power, unsure of her true strength. Her fist had condensed the air to the point of being visible, much like how a jet might break the speed of sound, and this set Shachi on edge.
"O-Oi, Shachi! Don't let her get the better of you!" One of his crew mates cried with his hands cupped around the edges of his mouth to project the words. The rest of the crew echoed similar encouragements, whilst the civilians shouted their own forms of support for Lou.
Shachi nodded resolutely in response and followed it up with a round-house kick at the woman, which she narrowly avoided by skittering back and falling to the floor. He sighed at her clumsiness and watched as she scrambled to her feet. A delicate shade of red engulfed her face and neck at the embarrassing attempt at dodging. With a swift jab and turn of her body that evolved into a near elbow to his face, Lou missed her target once again, but it instead traveled and connected with the decrepit building, creating a small crater around the impact. There was a wince from the crowd at the sickening crack of stone against bone. Shachi swiveled and landed a quick punch to her shoulder to which she cried out and clutched it. He quickly retracted his fist.
His wide brown eyes stared at her teared up blue ones that were partially hidden by her choppy fringe. "You're… You're actually a wimp!" He hollered. "Why are you starting fights if you're such a cry baby!"
Crystal tears dribbled down her cheeks at the quivering of her lip. "I'm not a cry baby! That just really hurt!"
"Ah, Shachi, you dick. You hurt a girl, ya big blouse," the 'PENGUIN' character tutted, shaking his head as the man turned to fume at him. "Captain'll be very disappointed at your lack of chivalry."
"Don't bring him into this, Penguin!"
"I'm just sayin' is all."
Shachi flicked his head back to the woman and her wobbly bottom lip with a roll of his eyes. She really was a bit of a hot head, but had little more than her obscene strength to back it up. Lou rubbed her aching shoulder, unable to prevent more tears from dribbling down her face.
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Law's smoky eyes had been locked on the frankly embarrassing fight throughout its entire duration. From a shadowed alley, he and Bepo had witnessed the 'tubby' insult and the pointless fight that ensued. Both the yelling of the crew, as well as the irresistible scent of the food had drawn them to that point. Bepo's attention however was firmly rooted in the food, eliciting another bout of drooling of his part. He gravitated towards the stand, deposited a few coins and helped himself to an unattended bowl of fried rice. The hearts in his eyes after the first bite unmistakably betrayed the amazing taste of each bite. He was completely unconcerned by the fight.
However the biggest surprise was the woman's apparent fearsome strength, albeit misguided through her overwhelming lack of skill. That could be trained into one, and the wimpish attitude would eventually evolve into something more gritty. In combination of that with her sublime cooking, Law supposed he had found a perfect match for his crew, whether she was willing to come along or not.