DISCLAIMER: All rights to 'One Piece' go to Eiichiro Oda, Shueisha, Toei Animation, Fuji TV and FUNimation, as well as any other parties involved with licencing that are not already listed in this disclaimer.

HUGE thanks to Your own random stalker for Beta-ing this first Arc!

Why not check my Tumblr blog for more behind the scenes posts, artwork, and sneak-peaks about this new story, and even some of my other works on Fan Fiction and A03? You'll find me as yuilhan-from-ff on that particular site!

"Pom-Pom Pom!"

Arc One: 'Darkest before the dawn!'

Episode 1. Logue Town! Our hero's journey begins!

Not far from the main shopping streets of Logue Town resides a small boutique. It's sparsely known, and crumbling from years of neglect, but the sign hanging on the glass insert of the door is proudly still switched from 'Closed' to 'Open' every morning at the stroke of eight o'clock.

It has been this way for thirty-five years, but it won't remain so for much longer.

Inside the store, sat on a stool behind the counter and working away at a torn cuff on a pinstriped shirt, we find out heroine: Nineteen-year-old Hari, sole inheritor of the remnants of her father's little business.

The place has seen better days, of course. The once magenta paint colouring the door and wide window frames now mimics the soft flushed skin of a new-born baby; peeling and cracking in places, which discourages any thoughts of the business flourishing in recent years. The windows, despite what they are set in, sparkle. Through them, an array of handcrafted garments, haberdashery and fabrics can be viewed. An equally weather-worn swing sign, hanging higher than the rosy-pink door, states that commissions and tailoring can also be arranged inside.

'Argyle's' had seen better days, but for now it was staying open. Hari kept the shop afloat by taking time consuming- but well paid- commissions, and fixing odd-bod garments for locals who respected the business and her father, or for tourists who were willing to pay a small fee for repairs to their clothes, rather than buying a whole new expensive wardrobe. She regretted not being able to keep the Marine contract her father had secured years ago, back when business was booming and they still had many workers stationed in the workshop at the back of the shop. Tailoring and embroidering uniforms for the local fleets, and sometimes further afield had been a well-paid job. But Hari was only one person, and having to let the workers go when her father- Argyle himself, passed, and the shop struggled to cope, meant making sacrifices. Even if it meant axing one great source of income.

She managed for two years to struggle on and do what she could; going so far as to sell the flat above the shop that had been her home since birth, and the more luxurious items within it. Now Hari lived in the workshop, a cold wooden bench serving as her bed. She figured that it couldn't hurt to live there; after all, there would be no workers- and she still owned the shop. Legally it was hers to do as she pleased, so long as she kept up with paying the lease and had enough left to provide for herself. She used the small employee bathroom for her necessities, but frequented a communal bath house when cotton bits and the dust in the storerooms began to itch her skin, or a particularly warm day left her body feeling sticky.

After the third anniversary of her father's death, and her third year of keeping Argyle's legacy alive, a Doskoi Panda chain store opened in the empty unit across the street. Hari had watched intensely from where she was changing the Autumn/Winter display to the Spring/Summer one as they flittered back and to with boxes of branded goods. Their windows were freshly polished, the frames and the door painted a deep and luscious maroon. On their opening day, despite being tucked away slightly from the main shopping sector, the store had more visitors than Hari would acquire in two months.

She remained cheerful, and kept the door propped open in hope of patrons over the next few weeks. None came. Her goods were unwanted; the branded clothing more appealing to the citizens of Logue Town.

When sweeping outside of the boutique after another rough day of no customers, the manager of the new Doskoi Panda store stepped outside. Leaning against the doorframe and smirking as she dejectedly swept the cobbles and under the little rubber welcome mat, the man she would learn to hate tauntingly said; "Oh dear."

Hari halted in her work. "Did you say something?" she asked, cupping a hand over her eyes. The low light shone on her face, and she squinted to make out the smirking man's features. He was very overweight, she noted, with tight trousers that didn't mesh at all well with his body shape. They rode low on his chubby hips and strained even with the chunky gold belt cinched round his stomach. A dark purple shirt that struggled to fit his torso was nearly popping at the seams and fastenings. But it was the greasy hair and smile that turned Hari's stomach. This was a weasel of a man; one who would stoop to any length to get what he wanted. In this case, it was money- why else would he be working with a well-established brand with chain stores all over the Blues and even Grand Line? Money made the world go round, Hari had eventually acknowledged, not well respected individuals of the community like her father. Money and the World Government were indeed the two ruling factors.

"Heh," Pat- because that was the greasy man's name, and Hari had come to revile it- scoffed, "Only that it's a damn shame to see such a good premises going to waste." He wiped his sausage fingers down the buttons of his purple shirt; golden signet rings adorning each of the fingers glinting in the low light.

"What do you mean by that?" Hari asked dumbly, now gripping the broom with both hands and a knuckle crunching ferocity. The man took any opportunity to try and belittle her family's business; tonight would be no exception.

"Exactly what I said. We wanted your shop originally, but it's no matter, I suppose. We're doing well enough in this one, and…" Pat chortled, looking down his bulbous nose at the young girl, "With the rate you're going at, we won't be outcompeted. If you're lucky, Heart Kreuz might buy you out."

Pat turned on his Cuban heeled boot. but stopped and tutted. "Oh!" He looked over his shoulder, "I forgot to mention the part where they'd have to be desperate to buy that shit tip of yours."

He strutted away, as best as he could without wobbling or tipping under his own weight, that is; locking the Doskoi Panda store up behind him and drawing down the velvet blinds for the night. Before the final blind hit the inside window ledge, he leered and waved his meaty hand at Hari; and it was the greasiest 'Goodnight' she had ever received.

Hari had unintentionally snapped her broom in two during the encounter; "Oh fu-" she spotted a neighbour's child running past with his friends, "-felt tip pens!"

She smiled uneasily as the boy slowed to a stop and stared. He wiped his snotty nose on his t-shirt sleeve and nodded sagely with the innate wisdom that all eight-year-old's possess: "Lady, you're weird."

Hari's smile tightened. The boy made himself scarce.

After an uneasy night's sleep in the workshop; which Hari spent waking from a scant few hours' of rest to begin working on a new commission- which she had finished before her alarm went off. She then began to set up the shop for yet another fruitless day.

The shelves were lightly dusted, any wrinkles in the goods displayed in the window were smoothed. The untouched haberdashery, which in by gone days would be in disarray and would take hours to reset, was left alone. Not many people came in looking for the right patterned ribbon or piece of lace; nor did they bother to purchase reels of cotton or embroidery threads. It was much easier to buy something premade that one thought was special, but in fact had predictably been worn by others already.

Hari picked up an oversized button that barely fit in her palm and sighed. Many of these crafting things had been in the shop for a few years- her stock hardly depleting from an influx of customers. In fact, she was the primary user; when she took commissions, she used what was handy in the shop and added the extra cost to the commissioner's bill.

She spent three hours behind the counter; the time divided by boxing up the commission and letting the one whom had ordered it that the garment was ready to collect. When the elderly lady came to pick up the small knitted hat, booties and mittens woven that very morning out of the softest wool Hari had to hand for the lady's unborn grandchild, Hari sighed and looked through the windows over to Doskoi Panda. Unsurprisingly, they were having yet another busy day.

Hari chose to close up the shop around mid-morning, a faint thrum of unease beginning to tug her tummy into knots. She decided that it wasn't going to give up- just for today, and only this day, would she give in. What was the point of staying open? She had no commissioned goods for people to collect, and the clothes premade drew no interest. She's be better off wandering round Logue Town and trying to pretend that everything was fine.

The shop was untouched, the blinds on the windows drawn down to prevent any theft- Hari would be so lucky to have that happen, the insurance she worked hard to pay for would reimburse her for the damage and more. With her appearance straightened in the employee bathroom mirror and the front door firmly locked, Hari surmised that a walk around Logue Town would help clear the strange feeling that had captured her.

Rarely for one does the universe comply; for Hari had could have unfortunately chosen this day to close early and wander. The day that the Strawhat Pirates rampaged around Logue Town. Not that she knew that, of course, otherwise she may have stayed indoors. Had our heroine decided to do the former, she would not have missed the local Bridezilla on the hunt for a wedding dress. The carnage the woman had left in several reputable stores was beyond comprehension; this would be her seventh marriage, and only a dress to outshine the other six would do, naturally. A scared bystander finally plucked up the courage and removed them self from behind the display of wedged-heeled sandals to suggest the bride-to-be try Argyle's Haberdashery for a commissioned wedding dress.

Upon finding the store closed, things royally kicked off. The bride turned her attention to Doskoi Panda, and ripped through the store like the storm beginning to brew off of the coast. Perhaps, Hari was indeed lucky to be spared from the same fate- even if it did lose her a healthy cash injection.

Had she also remained in the shop, Hari wouldn't have missed the man dressed in a smart suit and carrying a pristine leather briefcase. He had wished to speak to her urgently, but found Argyle's store empty, so left the way he came.

As it was, Hari was having a grand old time. She'd made her way down to the docks in the hopes of dipping her feet in the refreshing salt water. Instead, she was bowled over by a ground of people sprinting for the nearest ship- the blonde of the group apologised profusely before being thrown aboard by a red haired woman. Having dusted herself off and watching with confusion, Hari was sent flying again; this time by a member of the Marines.

She pressed her cheek into the cold stone of the docks, trying not to breathe deeply as the acrid smoke from the Marine's cigars clouded around her. Hari listened as the Marine- his reinforcements had dithered and cried 'Captain Smoker' upon arrival- barked out some orders. Something about tracking down 'Mugiwara' and some 'Dragon' guy? She wasn't too sure- both of her tumbles and kisses shared with the ground had left her a little disoriented.

Nobody bothered to scrape her up off of the floor, not even the justice-serving goody-goody Marines. It was down to pot luck they didn't trample her as they ran past.

Hari lay on her front for a few more minutes as the rain began to kick in, idly watching the docked vessels bob as the ocean currents were harried by the storm. Being so close to Reverse Mountain and the Grand Line had its drawbacks. Logue Town had its own volatile weather; scorching heat one minute and thunder storms the next.

She rolled on her back and let out a heavy sigh; "I knew it…"

Hari stood, not bothering to wipe the dust from her clothes. The rain had watered it down after all, and now distinct yellow patches had sunk into her white blouse. She adjusted the cross body bag by her hip, checking the contents. Her purse, the shop keys and the extensive sewing kit she always carried with her remained undamaged.

"Chivalry is long dead," she mumbled through gritted teeth. The rain poured harder and she began to shiver. "Oh for-" her cry drew the attention of a gap-toothed youth splashing through the gathering puddles, "-fox sake!"

Hari shook her head. Thoroughly disenchanted with the world and wishing she'd stayed and kept the shop open, she stepped into a nearby bar that served both hot and alcoholic drinks. She was hit suddenly by the warmth the door had kept trapped in there; the temperature dropping outside as the wind picked up. Taking a seat close to the bar, she hunched over the counter top- trying to hold all of new warmth in her body. When she could regain control of her cold body, she would gain the bar man's attention, but for the moment her chattering teeth and numb fingers claimed precedence.

"LET ME GO, YOU STUPID BASTARD!" Cried a smoky voice to Hari's left, and she idly angled her thawing body to the source of the noise.

A small girl- no older than fourteen, perched on one of the stool seats by the bar, was in the process of literally being dragged from the bar kicking and screaming.

"I can't serve alcohol t' kids!" Cried than man tugging on the girl's arm. The girl twisted this way and that, managing to get a solid bite on the man's exposed arm just by his wrist. He howled and instantly let go. The girl shuffled and got herself comfy on the seat; she smoothed out the puffy skirts of her sunflower yellow dress. Her golden hair lay in slightly tousled ringlet-pigtails, symmetrically aligned atop her head. Two 'cat-ear' cone shaped ribbons hid where the hair had been gathered and secured.

"And I keep sayin' that I'm not a kid!" The girl replied. Hari found it disconcerting for such a young teen to have a rich, gravelly voice. The tone simply didn't fit the innocent exterior; the frilly yellow sundress, pigtails and dewy, smooth skin. "I'm thirty-two, for Raftel's sake!"

Fully defrosted and beginning to dry slightly, Hari blanched. The preteen was actually not a preteen; she was in her thirties and still looked as fresh as a daisy? Hari wondered how she'd manged that- on days where money was incredibly tight and bill paying came before comfort, Hari would look especially haggard and gaunt. How had this woman survived for so long, looking as she did?

"Unb'lievable," The owner of the bar growled, "Stop messin' about, kid."

"No- 'believable'. I'm no kid," the woman rumbled back, "Now can I get a drink or not?" Half a minute later, the owner slat a glass of cold milk in front of the woman, purposely sloshing it down the front of her dress. "I'm so not payin' for that now- I'm wearin' half of it!"

"Like ih' t'or lump it, Kiddo," the owner states, and the small woman bristles.

Hari clears her throat, "Could I get a hot drink please?"

"I don't want to 'like it or lump it'! If you'd got what I asked for, we wouldn't be in this mess now would we?" The woman spits, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"Yer' a nasty little shit, arn'cha?"

"…Never mind," Hari wilts, slipping off of her stool. It may as well just be easier to go back to the shop to get through the worst of the storm and warm up there. She could always chance going down to the communal baths later if she was still cold. It would also help ease the stiffened muscles and bruises she could feel forming; surely the consequences of being knocked off of her feet earlier.

Wisely, only a few people are walking the streets and are bundled up in protective gear. Hari wraps her arms around her waist and hunkers down against the force of the wind. Her thin white shirt is thoroughly soaked through and stuck to her rapidly cooling skin.

Unfortunately for our young heroine, the world and its inhabitants served a cruel penance. Argyle's Haberdashery, the small boutique and haberdashery stockist of Logue Town that had been in business for thirty-five years was no more.

Hari's home and all of its contents were on fire, burning away despite the heavy downfall. The thin glass panes in the window frames had shattered, the flames and smoke pouring from open features and licking up the front of the grey stone.

Hari was struck dumb; she rubbed at her eyes, hoping that the fire, the crowd of bystanders doing nothing to quench the flames- that everything that had happened today was just one very strange and elaborate dream. But it wasn't, and Pat was stood nearby looking awfully shifty.

Argyle had a mistrust of banks, and preferred to keep his Beli in a secure place within the shop; that is, in a box containing family pictures, letters, cards and knickknacks from happier, memorable times. Sentimental of him though it may have been, it proved to be useful- they could manage their own spending, and the shop's books. Hari's mathematical skills soared above her peers when she was still in school- having been roped into the family business more often than not when she was younger. The only downfall apparent to Argyle's bank opposition proved to be this; the business had literally gone up flames, and the memory box containing all of the precious items and savings was still inside.

With one final rub at her eyes with tightly clenched fists, Hari calmly removed the shop keys from her bag and unlocked the door. She stepped back as a large cloud of soot flew her way, but took a cautious step inside. As though she were asleep, she stepped inside and managed to pull her shirt up to cover her lower face and nose. She moved quickly; scooping up the box from where it sat in the workshop beneath some rolls of silk, then she evacuated as swiftly as she could.

No sooner had she done so- Hari would soon recall shamefully the next time she awakened, she collapsed.

When Hari's eyes next cracked open, she found herself still sprawled on the cobbles. The fire sweeping through Argyle's had been quenched, she noted with bleary eyes. However, nothing salvageable remained.

Thirty-five years of grit, blood and tears had been ravaged in only a few hours. Hari had nothing but the box beside her, which she clung to with fervour. She bit her lip; at least she had been able to save mementos of her family and her father's life savings. Without it, she really would have no option but to rough it out on the streets until the insurance company could pay out and repair the shop. Upon closer inspection, Hari wondered whether the shop was worth repairing at all. Logically she reasoned that even if she did manage to repair everything, it wouldn't be the same store that she grew up in- the store her father built and worked in each day until he died. It was the store that had kept them busy when Hari's mother passed away prematurely, and that had provided her with a trade she felt would keep her imagination forever flowing. It would surely never be the same when restored, despite her best efforts. Everything would be clean, and new, and clinical. Not the homey little shop that had seen better years and was slightly rough around the edges.

But her heart protested.

This was her livelihood, her trade. Her last and only link to her family, despite the box of memories she kept a good hold on.

"-ri?"

Hari blinked. Was someone calling her?

"Miss Hari?"

She stiffly turned her head. A man in a suit, standing apart from the bystanders (who surprisingly hadn't left yet, though the main source of drama had finished) was offering her a vaguely familiar business card and a unsure smile.

"Miss Hari, my name is-" Hari didn't catch his name, a sudden rush of blood through her ears blocked any noise. She recognised this card; it was that of her insurance company. The embossed swirling letters of the company's name had vainly attracted her at first when she sought cover after her father passed. They had proven to be useful allies, like when an old pipe had burst in the workshop and damaged most of the floors two years prior. It had been a particularly harsh winter than year, Hari recalled, and the pipe had exploded when ice formed inside a hairline crack and expanded.

Hari felt her hopes rise; he was here to tell her that the shop would be okay! That everything would be fine, and reparable, like the incident with the pipe.

"-but I'm afraid that your contract ended this morning. We've been trying to get in touch for a while; I even popped round this afternoon, but the store was closed. Of all the dreadful things to happen during this mess… such a shame. Because your cover ended this morning, we cannot help you financially during this time and for the restoration of the shop. However, when you're up and running again, we can always renew your cover, yes?"

The man began to panic when the first tears fell from her eyes. His flustered hands fluttered in an attempt to quell the waterworks; "Miss! Please don't cry- I'm sure you can get this sorted."

Hari rubbed her runny nose on her shirt sleeve, not caring about making a mess of the white fabric anymore. After all, it was no longer white, but a sooty grey.

"Everything I own," she whispered, and pointed beside her, "Is now in that box."

"But surely your late father-"

"He didn't like banks, Sir. We managed our own accounts. I've lost almost everything and I certainly don't have the money to bail myself out."

The man from the insurance company grimaced: "I'm so sorry." He undid one of the chunky buckles on his briefcase and removed a small rectangle of luxurious cardboard. "If you have need to financial support, I have a colleague you can reach here. He's a good man, I'm sure he would help."

Hari accepted the card with a nod. She doubted she would be contacting this man despite whether he could work miracles or not, and discreetly ripped the card in two when the suited man from the insurance company had left. The little hopes held inside of her heart had been overcome by cold logic:

Argyle's had quite literally gone up in flames. A new boutique and haberdashery rising from the ashes was near impossible.

Box held tightly to her tummy, Hari wandered the streets of Logue Town. She wondered what she should do next.

In the box was approximately enough money to barely sustain herself for a year in Loguetown, that was in the scenario she used it lavishly and took no new occupation. Three years at most, if she eked every last Beli and found some form of employment in between.

Exiting her mathematical reverie, Hari found herself stood by the docks she had visited earlier. The last dregs of light were disappearing; the storm having moved on and leaving an eerie calm behind. The vessels docked bobbed with the gentle currents, accompanied by the faint sound of canvas sails and flags flapping in the light evening breeze.

Hari closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She placed the sturdy box she was carrying down on the ground, and sat on the lid. Her hands gripped her knees. She bit her lip. Was it even worth staying in Logue Town? Perhaps she should try and find passage to a smaller island where the cost of living would be easier? Maybe she should just find employment on a ship? She could earn her keep from repairing clothes, upholstery and sails. Hari's mood brightened; she could do all of that and still be able to see the world. Ships were entering and leaving Logue Town all of the time, she'd certainly find a suitable position at some point.

"Wow, it's as if I can actually see the cogs turnin'…" Hair startled. The young-looking-but-old woman from the bar this afternoon was squatting down and looking up at her, a confused expression etched on her youthful features. "What's got you thinkin' so intently that I can smell smoke."

"I'm not thinking that hard, Auntie-!" Hari slapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, please forgive me. That just slipped out," she apologised, but the woman just laughed.

"So your brain isn't on fire, but I'm guessin' something' was?"

"My family's store. Burnt out, everything lost- except for this box," Hari rapped her knuckles on the boxes side. "Insurance man informed me my cover ran out this morning."

"Sucks to be you, I guess!" The woman chirruped, but wrinkled her nose as she got a good whiff of Hari's clothes. "Say, you got anywhere you can go? I swear I've seen you before…"

"Huh? No, actually. I was going to rent a room for the night until I got things sorted."

The youthful woman grabbed her hand, "Follow me. You can stay with me on Junky tonight, better than some scummy hotel. Get yourself cleaned up. I don't think I've got clothes big enough to fit you, but we can find somethin'. Heck, who needs bedsheets?"

Hari wasn't sure what the 'Junky' was, but nodded in assent anyway. She wasn't going to turn down the promise of a free hot shower and clean clothing, not even if she had no idea who the person offering such things was. As long as Hari didn't insult the woman about her appearance, she presumed she would be safe for the night.

'Junky' turned out to be one of the most interesting looking ships Hari had seen in a while; and because she lived in Logue Town, she'd seen some interesting ships. The dark wood curving up at the port and stern ends reminded her of a crescent moon. Three masts ascended from the deck, though two of the tree sails were drawn down. One however was left open; making Hari think of a wide fish fin. Each of the panels of the open sail was a bright magenta pink- which instantly made her feel at home.

"This is my baby, Junky. We've been through a lot these past thirteen years. Honestly, people take one look at me and ask what business I'd have sailin' a ship- no other questions about my circumstances and stuff asked. I've been through all of the Blues; spent a bit of time on each one with little hassle. Got stuck in East Blue for a bit though. They're crotchety with young children, had somethin' happen to some kids over the last few years. One of them got blew up or somethin'. Anyway, got stuck on some island in the back arse of East Blue for, like, three years, because they thought I was younger than twelve. Nice people, but shit at listenin'-"

Hari nodded. The woman's constant stream of speech had left her dizzy.

The woman pulled her onto the spacious deck of Junky; "The shower is down there-" here, she pointed to the cabin, "- keep goin' straight until you reach the end of the hall, then it's the first door to the left after you've gone round the corner, 'kay? There's towels already in there that you can use."

Hari placed her box of belongings on the deck and smiled thinly, "Thank you, erm…?"

"Li-Anne."

"Thank you, Li-Anne."

Li-Anne rubbed the back of her slender neck shyly, "Don't worry about it, Kiddo. Just get yourself cleaned up. I'll try and find some sheets to wrap you up in. I'm burnin' those rags you're wearin'."

Thirty minutes later, Hari was clean and no longer smelling like a smoking chimney. Li-Anne knocked on the bathroom door while Hari was still submerged under the hot water. A stack of linens had been left in the corridor. Hari chose one out of the pile- a large pink sheet that had yellow polka dots printed in a fluently tiled pattern.

She pulled it inside the bathroom, laying it out flat. Currently, her body was wrapped in a fluffy purple towel, but her clothes remained in the room. As did her bag, which contained a small but extensive sewing kit.

Li-Anne's fist thwacked on the door just as Hari had begun cutting the fabric into unrecognisable pieces. "You goin' to be long kid? I want some supper. I'm sure you do too; saw you at that bar earlier- that's where I know you from. Service was shit there, right? Guess you found out your place was on fire not long after, huh?"

Once again, Li-Anne's intuitive guesses proved to be right. Hari's stomach released a loud grumble as she began pinning the freshly cut pieces of fabric together. "Could you give me another half an hour- I'm just starting to sew everything up."

"Did you just say 'sew'?"

"Yeah."

Li-Anne didn't answer back, so Hari took it as a sign to keep going. Another half an hour of uninterrupted needlework passed, and Hari lifted her creation out and away from her body. A pink and yellow polka-dotted set of makeshift dungarees hung limply in her grasp. Hari shrugged; the pattern didn't match up well at the seams, but on such short notice, what should she have expected? At least she had something fresh to wear.

Her underwear had fared better than the rest of her clothes, so she slipped it back on. Then she tried the dungarees. It wasn't her best attempt at garment making, but it would have to do on such short notice. The rescued savings would buy her a new set of clothes, though she was loath to spend any of the money rescued from the fire just yet.

"Here, Kiddo," Li-Anne called when Hari finally entered the kitchen. "Got you some food- damn! You really did say 'sew', huh?"

"Yes. I cut up one of your sheets, is that okay?"

Li-Anne regally wafted a hand around looking every bit the little princess; "It's no skin off my nose, if that's what you mean."

They ate in silence. Hari found herself staring off into space while chewing the food Li-Anne had prepared. It only tasted of ashes, no matter what it was she was scooping off of her plate. She needed to eat though, so Hari forced each tasteless mouthful down.

"So what are you goin' to do now?" Li-Anne questioned when they had both finished.

"I'm not sure, I had hoped to re-open the shop- but I don't have the funds or the Insurance company to claim from. Perhaps I could work on a ship as a seamstress? But if that fails…" Hari's face twisted into a wry smile; "I could always turn to piracy, I suppose."

With a solemn face, Li-Anne asked, "Then why don't you join me?"