Title: The More Things Change
Summary: Makino has Ace and Luffy's wanted posters hanging in her bar
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters
More often than not, the man pushing through the swinging doors or the one sitting on the third chair from the wall is a new face. She doesn't get many regulars anymore, but ever since two years ago there's been a lot more sailors docking for supplies, and somedays she even finds it hard to keep up.
It's different than it was those two years ago, different still from those twelve years ago, and while she'll glance wistfully at the carefully framed portrait of three smiling boys, all piled on top of each other, she still finds she's enjoying this new turn life has taken.
Even if it is different, she'll sometimes think, it really is still the same.
And then she'll turn back to her latest costumer and as she serves his drink, maybe he'll ask, they yours, or maybe he won't, but either way, she'll smile fondly and go about her day.
One day, after those two years that made everything different but didn't really change anything, a group of pirates swagger into her bar. She's been expecting this, is surprised it hadn't happened sooner, but she's not scared, not of this.
The leader saunters right up to the bar, a confident smirk stretched across his face, and slams a scuffed brown boot down onto the stool in front of him. He expects her to be nervous, she's sure, to cower and stammer her way through taking his order, and perhaps, even let them leave without asking for payment, like their payment is sparing her life.
As she approaches the man from behind the bar, all smiles and practiced confidence, she silently laments the fear that has crossed the faces of all her other patrons. Business would be slowing down for a while.
She's right in front of him now, still holding that relaxed professionalism as she asks what he and his friends would like. There's no rush or strain, nothing about her easily casual demeanor to suggest this is anything but a normal day, that he is anything more or less than her usual kind of customer.
While she's waiting for him to answer her, she nearly revels in the astonishment slowly forming across his features. This has never happened to him, she knows, because this is the East Blue, the safest and the weakest of any ocean, and had she been anyone else, the same could be said about her.
After the disbelief he gets angry. It takes his face and twists it into something feral and ugly, until he's less of a man and more of a beast. Still, she waits patiently, hands folded around a note pad, pleasant smile as radiant as when she donned it, and kind eyes steady on those of her latest customer.
He looks about ready to start something, ready to reach past the minimal protection the bar itself provides and throttle her, show her exactly why women like her never last long. But he doesn't, because he can't, because the moment he makes to grab her something catches his eye, and all of a sudden it's like his mind and body are two separate entities and he doesn't have control of either.
There's a picture behind the bar, a little off to the side, featuring three little kids all in a pile, and suddenly there's an absolute feeling of dread creeping up his spine and filling him until that's all he can feel. The picture by itself means nothing, he doesn't recognize those kids, shouldn't, but there's something else there that makes it impossible not to break out into a cold sweat, not to feel all the blood draining from his face as he takes a shaky step back.
Next to that framed photo are wanted posters. Just two, but that kid with the scar under his left eye and straw hat perched firmly on his head cannot be mistaken for anyone else, not when his posters right there and the similarities even after years of difference are impossible to ignore. Not when the dark haired boy with a face full of freckles has that same slight smirk and slanted eyes as the man on the other poster.
He's backing out of the bar without even looking at the numbers, without another word, pushing through his men to get away from this place and off this island as quickly as he can because it's impossible to not recognize those posters, not after two years ago. That woman though, he now realizes, his mind to frantic to really prioritize what it should be thinking, is not someone to mess with, if she knew those two that young. He wonders how someone like her could possibly exist in an ocean like East Blue.
When he flees, she still has that pleasant smile, though her eyes perhaps hold something close to fondness for those willing to look. Just as they always have, those boys mean everything.
Well, this is the first in what I hope with be a long going collection. I haven't written anything outside of school in a long time, so feed back is very much appreciated. Any requests will also be fulfilled to the best of my ability.
Thanks for reading