Located in West Blue, was a city known for being the definition of 'backwards'. 'Vouloir', was a city where people lived and worked from evening to morning, and slept from morning to late-afternoon. Although, not many people worked anyway. So what did they do? Constantly they engaged in the joys commonly associated with nightlife: steaming social linkage, dubious drugs, aggressive alcoholism, rousing romance and perhaps the most blasphemous of all, treating the concept of sleeping at night like a portal to hell. Eventually, it got to a point where, the town's infamous reputation for 'shamelessly advocating the hedonistic lifestyle of the 'Great Pirate Era', as mentioned in the 'Four Ocean's Telegraph's article about Top Ten Towns of Taboo, grew larger with each passing day. Nonetheless, it was generally agreed upon by the residents and tourists alike that comparing a night of PRB to an honest to God night of fun was a bit silly, so they continued their partying ways without fear of repercussions.

Unfortunately, there is always that one person at a party, who actually hates the notion of 'fun.' This one person who you catch a glimpse of in the corner, immediately kills your vibe (and maybe you). That 'one' person who found himself out of sync with the exploits surrounding him was 17 year old Gaius Gris, whose only purpose in life was to get as much unnecessary sleep as possible.

Gris possessed, black skin and a black, medium-sized and messy afro. So messy was his afro that it almost looked like fibre of hair stood in their own direction after an electric shock. He had black eyes that were shaped in a perpetual expression of mild fatigue and black eyebrows that resided three cuts above them. His nose, whilst small in length, was wide, but not quite wide enough to be called large and his lips were shaped in a one-hundred and eighty degree line of apathy.

On his slim but muscular body he wore, an ultramarine oxford shirt with an unbuttoned grey cardigan over it and on his bottom half, he wore black coloured straight jeans with white loafers sans socks. The smart-casual attire not only severely contrasted the lad's perpetually sleepy demeanour, it made him look as if he either had an important event to attend or was one of the youngsters looking for a hot date.

Unfortunately, for the culture-shocked youth, many thought the latter. Thus: the drunken splendours of others, the futile attempts to start brawls made by others, the nonsense of others caused by drugs and the drunken/drug induced seduction attempts made towards him had completely stalled his true objective in Vouloir.

What was this true objective?

He forgot…

As time passed he grew too tired and too hungry and especially too thirsty to even try to remember.

In desperation for some reparations, he directed (what was supposed to be a prayer but ended up being) a moan towards the dark night sky. "…Dear Gods of the sky, isn't there an inn or hotel to sleep in for the night, preferably one where I can order food and drinks?"

*Silence…*

The desperate teen tried to explain himself, "Look, I understand that I am no faithful believer, in fact if I were not so desperate I would probably have never done this, but if you answer my question and lead me to a luxurious hotel, we can become friends with benefits…" He quickly caught and tried to rectify his erroneous ingenuity, "e-e-except the, um… biblical 'knowing'… is replaced with donating beri to your cause… What do you say?"

*Silence…*

He whimpered, "…No deal?"

Silence…

"…O-Okay then…" he unnaturally slunk to the ground and resigned himself to dying on his back with his arms spread out wide. The last sounds he would hear as he faded away from the spiritual plane, were going to be his rumbling stomach alongside the obscene grunting, shrieking and vomiting of the partying pricks around him. Gris didn't really appreciate how appropriate those noises were as a soundtrack to his pathetically approaching, anti-climactic end. "…Ugh…" he groaned in preparation for his famous last words, "… The least you could do… If I die… bury me… inside… a jewellery store…"

When all hope had been lost, suddenly, the melodramatic boy noticed, from the corner of his right eye, someone watching him. He tilted his head towards them.

Silently watching the youth's melodramatic monologue in entertainment was a real burly old bloke around 48 years old, sitting on some wooden steps outside a tavern. He possessed dark auburn hair and many wide features. Wide jovial looking brown eyes, a wide nose, a constant wide smile, a wide fighters jaw, a wide veiny neck, wide torso and wide legs, wide white sleeveless shirt, wide blue jogging pants with wide sandals and a wide checkered-brown rucksack.

In summary, he was fat. Muscular, but fat. So muscular and so fat that his shadow seemed to eclipse the entirety of the other shadows caused by the several 40-60 foot buildings that were adjacent to each other on the expansive road; and, he was only sitting down too!

Gris obviously kept this train of thought to himself, he didn't want his 'oh so graceful' final moments to be ruined by some 'off their heads' degenerates finding him crushed between some fatass' ass cheeks.

The christened 'fatty' spoke with a voice so gravelly that it seemed like he ate hardened cement for breakfast. "Hey kid, I was watchin' yer melodramatic monologue and I have to ask, what's that article in yer right hand about?"

"Hm?" Gris tilted at his right hand towards his line of sight. Inside it was a picture from a news article dated from a year ago. Like the sun, after spending eight days indoors (but without the hissing), recollection hit him hard. "Ahhhh!" completely forgetting how 'little' energy left, he sprang to his feet like popcorn.

With a burst of reserved excitement akin to the sizzling of good steak, Gris approach the 'old fatty' and held out the article. "Old fa- I mean, old man, do you know where the Berry Grand Hotel is?"

The Berry Grand Hotel was a grandiose establishment that was said to have over 200 rooms that weren't too big, but not too small – they were just right. According to the article, so was everything else: the service wasn't too overbearing, but still meals and whatnot were always delivered on time; all the facilities were well looked after and the staff were beyond professional. With all the acclaim, it was difficult to believe it was only built four years ago by two women and a bunch of children (some of them Gris' age). That being said, there were some rumours of doggy dealings circulating the hotel, but with no proof, no one could act upon them.

One of the women was a lady called Berry von Lopez. With the broad grin on her face that read 'look at me now, bitches' it was easy to see, contrary to what age is said to do, that the 42 year old lady still had an abundance of youth left with her. Next to her image, in Gris' eclectic handwriting was written, 'probably has lots of life stories = funny'. To the left of the older lady stood a much taller woman. She was 22 years old, probably around 5'11- 6'1 and in the picture taken, she wore an expression that made it seem like she really couldn't care less about the achievement. Despite the apathy, she still carried herself with a concoction of: confidence (perhaps arrogance), maturity, sophistication and sexiness. Due to this, the children, who wore black suits as their uniform, looked like slaves. Next to her picture was an X-mark drawn with great precision.

The old man laughed, obnoxiously loud. So loud he laughed that with his voice of cement, Gris was surprised that the act of laughing didn't kill him. "Yer lookin' for Annalise, aren't ya?"

An unreadable expression came over the lost teen. "How did you?-" Gris quietly began.

The Old man was more than pleased to elaborate, "Well you saw the picture right? She's an attractive young lady, ain't she? What if I told ya that as attractive as she looks in that photo, in person she's a radiant Goddess?"

Gris stroked his chin, he wasn't quite sure how he should answer and he let that uncertainty into his delivery, "I'd say that if she's a Goddess… then I… can't… I don't know… um… touch her? Y'know, because she's so… high… up….?"

The 'old bloke' stood as still as solid cement. For a brief second tension was palpable. Then he laughed. Loudly. Again "Well what ya know, kid," he trailed off into more laugher "'ere I thought you were some kinda sleepy dumbnut, but I guess yer one of them closet geniuses. HAHAHAHA! 'Goddess… can't touch her'… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The nervous youth rubbed the back of his head and stared off into space in a facade of boredom to mask his confusion. "You're giving me too much credit here. Anyway you still haven't told me why you guessed I was after Annalise."

"Oh yeah!" He smacked his right fist against his left palm in recollection and proceeded to clear his throat (not much good it served for a voice that gravelly, thought Gris) "Guys like three things, sports, fighting and 'knowing'. In a town like this, where dudes can freely indulge themselves in all that, you want the best piece of meat you can find, especially for that last one. For a lot of 'em, Berry von Annalise is the hottest and juiciest meat in town, but she's hella expensive."

Although listening to someone refer to a female as meat made him uncomfortable, Gris decided to indulge the man in what was to be a longwinded and convoluted explanation. "I take it you're going to explain why that is?"

The old dude nodded. "Yer goddamn right, I am" He cleared his throat again "…So, when one kid gets drunk, medicated, too rocked up on that macho crap, he gets it through his head that he can pull any girl he wants. He goes up to the hottest chick in town and struts his stuff. It's worked on every girl before, and since all girls, no matter what, are the same; it's obvious he's gonna score, right? Nope, he gets rejected. After hearing what happened, some other cool kid hears this. He goes to his pals like, 'I'm everything that guy isn't, but just as good at gettin' girls. I know can get her'. He fails too, she doesn't even look him in the eye. Then some other dude with the same mentality tries and fails, then the cycle keeps goin'. Eventually, every tourist hears about the Goddess that rejects every 'hot' guy that asks her out, but they'll try their hand and get burned. When they go back home, they tell their pals, and then their pals come and try too. They fail. The pals then tell their pals. They try. They fail. Until someone breaks that streak her price/desirability increases by day. Do you see what I mean?"

Gris nodded, however, "What does that have to do with me?"

"You tell me", was the response the bloke gave.

Rather than arguing against it, the tired youth opted to dedicate what was left of his brain power to indulge the burly man in his stupid game. "Ok… What I do know is that you saw me trying to sell my soul to the sky for a place to sleep, thus, you figured that I wasn't here to party. But, if I wasn't here to party, you thought the only thing I cared about was getting to… um… biblically 'know', Ms Berry von Annalise. However, due to my confused answer about not being able to touch a Goddess, you determined I wasn't here to bother Ms Berry for any perverted reasons and since you're actually quite perceptive, you seem to know that my intentions are fair enough. Is that the answer? "

The cool old bloke laughed heartily. "HAHAHAHAHA! Nice one. I guess you are smart then."

Gris tried to get the point whilst maintaining some civility, "You know what? For underestimating my… um… 'genius' (?), you should tell me where that hotel is."

The burly fella crossed his arms tightly against his chest in deep consideration, "Hmmmmmmmmm… It ain't that I don't wanna, it's just, well, ya see kid, I'm bad with explainin' directions," then lit he up like a house fire, "so I'll give ya this baby den den mushiiiiii~!" He shoved the den den mushi into Gris' left hand. "This way you can call someone to give you directions. Pretty cool, ay? "

"…Indeed…" was what Gris said as he turned his attention to the violet coloured den den mushi that wore an expression of apathy and thick red lipstick. Judging by the way it sat on his palm, it seemed to have some sort of attitude. "Well, here's hoping the student has surpassed the mentor" he thought to himself.

"One more thing!" He took a lunch box out of his bag and more or less shoved it into Gris' right hand causing the picture in it to crinkle. "Give this to Annalise, tell her it's for our 'fussy cassy'."

Hesitantly with an, "Er… sure…?" the demand was accepted.

"Thanks, kid" said, fatty.

"I suppose I should thank you for the den den mushi. So thanks." With that out of the way, Gris turned his attention back to the den den mushi in his palm. He pushed a button on its side and a very unusually feminine *purupurupurupuru* resounded through the vicinity. Patiently he waited for his guide to pick up.

*Katcha*

"…I have to say, Gris…"

Those first lines caused the atmosphere to plummet, tremendously. It wasn't from the den den mushi, but if it wasn't then… Gone was the jovialness and the friendliness, if not for the cement-like voice, his profoundly foreboding tone would have made him unrecognisable. In shock, the young man snapped his head up to face the old man, who now stood and towered over him. This time, there was no hiding the unshakeable trepidation that began crawling unto him.

The hardened old master continued, "…you've picked an interesting place and time to begin your adventure. Very interesting. In this town that masks overbearing darkness with false smiles, false laughs, false cries of joy, and false attractions, what you'll do here will set the tone for the way the commoners of this town, the commoners of the world, those on the sea and those in charge will perceive you and believe me when I say, you'll have it harder than most. Why? Because most people see the brighter side of life before submerging themselves in despair. That way, they know what the exit looks like and then, they can claw towards the exit. You, on the other hand, will begin in the darkness and will inevitably find yourself submerged before you even realise the true nature of that light, alongside the true meaning of: wealth, fame and power. But once you have, you'll never be able to get lost again…"

He turned back to the burly old bloke with the wide smile, "Anyways, I'm gonna go visit my wife, I haven't seen her in around two years. This ain't goodbye, 'cause I'm sure I'll be seeing ya soon. In the Grand Line, that is. You catch that Annalise?"

Silence came from the other end of the den den mushi line, "…"

"Oh and Gris, tell Camila I said 'hi' would ya?"

Without a care in the world, the bloke walked off into the distance. Laughing a laugh that left both Gris and Annalise feeling incredibly uncertain.

For the first time ever, Gris cared about who that perceptive old man was and for a few second, he was left in crystal maze of thought. "Where could I have met him? How does he know Camila? Why does he know Camila? Why does he know me?"

There was no answer. No answer at all…

The only response he could think of was that, "... He called me melodramatic?"

As if reading his mind, Annalise interrupted the chain of thought with her sensually husky and honest voice "…Hm! You should merely disregard him. I cannot count how often that old fool has enjoyed going on his foreboding and long-winded non-sequiturs"

But, the puzzled youth wasn't so convinced by her show of ambivalence. Regardless, he responded by saying, "…Indeed…"

Silence filled the air once more...

"So~ then… I suppose you have reached the Berry Great Hotel's costumer service line… I am the co-founder of this hotel, Berry von Annalise, how may I assist you?"