Tell it to the Marines

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Chapter 2

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"Captain?"

Yasopp waits, watching as the man he has come to follow slowly returns mentally to their current location, though it's evident he still wants to fly away to whatever holds so much of his attention. Were he not so sharp sighted, he'd assume the fixation of Shanks' thoughts to have curves as full as the ocean and legs that stretch for miles.

However, the look his redhead captain wears is not the besotted warmth of a man madly in love, nor is it the sparking excitement of lust. It's something deeper, and Yasopp has his suspicions.

Not that he will voice them, not quite yet.

"Why do we visit this island more than the others?"

Now they have his attention, Lucky Roo voices the most important question, the one that persists for all of them.

Yasopp has come to his own tentative conclusions, but it's probably a sight away from whatever the rest of the crew have assumed. There are silent, where do you go's, who is she's, is she really worth all these visits'. All those unspoken questions float through the air and Yasopp finds himself grinning.

Shanks has a contemplative look upon his face, one hand scratching lazily at the short red stubble that emblazons his chin.

"Alright, I'll let you meet her. But only if you head to the restaurant instead of the bar."

There's a herd of grumbled complaints, but Shanks'll hear none of it, and that just cements things in Yasopp's mind. He's almost one hundred percent certain of just who this girl is.

"But Cap', if she's your girl, surely she knows you're a pirate!"

"Dahahaha! Of course she knows I'm a pirate!" Shanks' grin is wide, hands on his hips and he looks so incredibly proud. Of what, Yasopp isn't quite sure. Not right now anyway.

"But that doesn't mean she should see the lot of you as drunken bums. Not at first anyway."

And really, there's no arguing with that.

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This island, Melring, is a lovely little place. It's right on the edge of the Grand Line, not near the turbulent entrance, but not so far in as to have the big threats show their faces. In fact, it's what could almost be considered quiet from this particular sea.

The only thing that gives the island away as one belonging to the Grand Line is the almost unbearable conditions it reaches in the height of summer. The one year Shanks had brought them here during that time, the whole crew had threatened a munity if he dared to attempt such a thing again. They were only half joking too.

Yasopp seats himself down in one of the wooden chairs their helpful waitresses have provided, all of whom seem quite happy to be feeding such a large and hungry group. Certainly they will be earning their pay today, but Yasopp knows that they'll be tipped quite well too. Shanks' rather free with his money when it comes to a party, and this seems like it's going in that direction.

As the crew dig into the dishes laid upon the table top, Benn declares they should keep the food coming.

After all, it will be a long while before any of them even begin to approach feeling full.

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It is five minutes later when Yasopp catches a flash of red from the corner of his eye and he turns to instinctively greet his captain.

Only, he finds himself looking down instead, and then choking on the food in his mouth.

The shade of red is right on the dot, but the sweet little face it surrounds is most definitely not his captain. Even with his suspicions, to have the explicit proof before him proves blindsiding.

He isn't the only one, the rest of the crew suck in startled breaths and several of them choke a little. And by the seas, those eyes are seven shades of an eerie eldritch, no matter how curiously, how warmly they look upon them. He's seen those eyes before somewhere…

"Dahahaha! Riskua, meet crew. Crew, meet Riskua!"

Shanks appears in the aftermath of his unexpected surprise, two hands resting upon the little girl's shoulders, beaming a smile at them. There's a dark promise in that smile, a dare for them to say even one wrong thing that the little lady could take offensively and face the consequences of the Captain's wrath.

Nope, Yasopp's perfectly fine not being on Shanks' shit list.

"Nice ta meet ya, little lady Riskua," Yasopp leans around the table top, extending his hand towards his captain's daughter and doing his damn best to ignore those unsettling eyes and the malaise they inspire.

"Hello," she says and it's a cultivated tone of voice, accented to the island and a clear indication that she does indeed live here, not just travel with whomever her career may be to meet up with her father, "you're Yasopp, right?"

When he nods, the girl smiles and settles herself into one of the two spare seats, folding her hands together and seemingly quite content to let Shanks worry about getting her some food.

"Papa's told me all about his crew. You're the sniper."

Papa.

It's the damning proof, the unquestionable evidence -as if little Riskua's hair wasn't enough already- that ties both her and Shanks together. Father and daughter. His captain is a father.

Just like him.

"That I am!" Yasopp confirms, puffing out his chest in pride as the sweet little girl nods solemnly along. The excited smile gives her away though; she's just as pleased to be meeting them as they are her. Now that the shock is somewhat over.

"You know, I have a little boy just a bit younger than you! He was toddling around before he was even a year old and could throw a toy block into his playpen before he could even stand!"

Though he does not see him as much as he probably should, Yasopp is incredibly proud of his son, and that always shines through. Usopp is his first topic of choice in a conversation; it's wonderful to have someone new to tell the stories to.

"How old is he?"

And by taking an interest in his young son, Riskua easily endears herself to him. Yasopp doesn't even try to hide it.

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"-And the dwarf king breathes out his final breath, leaving his last words, on how if everyone were to desire good food and good company, then perhaps the world would be a far better place." Riskua finishes her tale, smiling cheerfully around the spoon in her mouth with sticky toffee outlining her lips, there's even a slight smear splashed upon her cheek.

To begin with she had eaten slowly and carefully, but as she began weaving her tale and her animated gestures became more bold and courageous as the story continued on, the oblivious girl had ended up wearing more of her dessert than eating it.

"Where did you find this story, Riskua-chan?" Yasopp asks, all the while running through it in his mind. It's a long tale, intricate; he has no hope of recalling it all.

"I thought it up," she states, head bobbing up and down as if working as her own confirmation while Shanks all but glows with fatherly pride.

"Mama writes them all down and my tales are going to be made into a book soon! Uncle's gonna get someone to publish them for me!" So whoever her uncle is, he's got a lot of connections.

Something is itching at the back of Yasopp's mind, a prodding feeling that he has all the pieces, he just need to put them together so that this sensation of on-the-verge of knowing something will stop irritating him.

"That's brilliant, Gully!" It's a cute nickname the captain has come up for her with, if not quite as girly as he probably imagines it.

Still, Riskua takes no offence, instead smiling wide and leaning into Shanks' side, eyelids drooping, energy leaking away like freshwater melting from ice.

"'M tired, Papa."

"You have spent several hours telling us some wonderful stories," counsels Shanks, scooping the little lady up into his arms with a practiced ease, "let's get you back home."

And well, who knew captain made such a doting father?

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They leave three days later, and during that time, they see very little of their captain. Not that any of them can really rightly complain, not now that they know the reason as to why Melring has become a destination held so closely to the Captain's heart.

As they are getting ready to set sail, Yasopp stares back at the docks, where the little daughter of Red Hair Shanks stands, a smile on her face as she waves goodbye to them. Their captain's old straw hat rests atop her head, too larger brim shadowing her uncanny eyes from their sight. Thank the lord for it.

The little lady was quite unfortunate to be stuck with such a feature.

Shanks is the last of them to board, kneeling before his little girl and getting in one last long hug before they head off again. He plucks the hat from her head, ruffling the lengthening curls that frame her face as he does so. Her loud proclamation for him to return soon tugs at Yasopp's heart, and for a moment he sees a little boy instead, seeing his father off into the ocean. Only, East Blue is not the kind of ocean that the Red Hair Pirates would ever come to call home. And while that hurts, he knows he son will grow into a strong, proud man. No doubt he'll become a man of the sea at some point too, Yasopp knows his blood will run true. He's already proud of Usopp.

"Thinking of your own son?" Shanks asks as he steps onto the ship, one of the cabin boy's pulling in the plank of wood they'd been using for boarding.

"Aye, Captain. Sorry to say he's cuter than your little lady."

A fist clomps down on his head, though in all honesty Yasopp was expecting it. His pride as a father would not allow him to say otherwise, regardless of the fact it's been quite a while since he last saw Usopp.

"Dahahaha! That's a lie for the ages, Yasopp. My little Gully is the most memorable girl you'll ever meet."

Well, with those eyes, that's certainly not something to be disputed.

It's not polite to point that out to the Captain though, especially when the man's so happy that his whole face seems to be splitting into a beaming grin, the trio of scars even curving under the pressure.

"Love you, Papa!"

Yasopp has no idea how Riskua manages to project her voice all the way out to them, but it's certainly impressive just how quickly it brings Shanks to manly tears.

"Papa loves you too!"

And though they know the lass wouldn't have been able to hear the words, Yasopp doesn't doubt in the slightest she knows he means them.

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It is during his next visit, the one after which he finally bit the bullet, swallowed the sword and introduced Riskua to his crew that Shanks realises just how special his little girl is.

Evidentially, Mihawk has never felt the need to inform him just what he's spending his quality time with Riskua doing.

Watching his little girl practice with Armament Haki, he can now take a good guess though.

His little girl stands in the back garden of her home, a pile of stone slabs next to her that she is steadily making her way though. Tiny hands pluck own up, taking hold of the edges before there's a surge of Haki. The stone wobbles, bending ever so slightly before it snaps, most often clearly in two. That is some impressive strength for a six year old.

"How's my little seabird?" Shanks calls, watching as she jumps and the rock in her hand crumples like cheap sails.

"Papa?" Riskua's head is cocked over her shoulder, one eyebrow arching as she slowly gets to her feet. Their hair is a matching length now, the slight curls that once topped her head now weighed down enough that they fall in gentle waves instead.

She's changed a lot from the chunky little toddler he first met, back when her cheeks were pudgy, flushing red as her temperament flared. They still do now, but it's not as noticeable given how the puppy fat is starting to slowly melt away in the face of her training.

The limbs that had once been so squatty are now beginning to hint at the length and form they will reach once Riskua becomes an adult, and oh, time is moving far too fast. He might be looking upon a six year old child right now, with her bitten nails and half-picked at scabs, but she's not going to stay that way. That's a thought to agonise over at another time though, not during his limited few days with his darling daughter.

Who appears to have lost interest in waiting for him to speak and is once again crushing a rock in her hands, leaving a perfect little imprint.

"Hawk Eyes' teaching you Haki?"

Shanks can't really complain about the World Greatest Swordsman offering some free training out -anything to keep Riskua that bit safer for that bit longer- but teaching her Haki; isn't that overdoing it a bit?

"Is he here teaching me?" Is his daughter's smart assed reply, cheeky little grin lifting the corners of her mouth as she drops the latest crushed rock to the floor. There's a scattering of them around Riskua, surrounding her feet as if fallen acorns around the base of a tree trunk.

"Alright, Gully," Shanks grumps, dropping his straw hat down upon her head until it fully covered her eyes, "how's your observation?"

As things turn out, her observation is remarkable. Mihawk has to have been teaching her longer than Shanks first assumed, she's managed to block eight pokes for every ten he directs at her. After the thirty-seventh though, Shanks grows bored and doesn't design to stop his attack after one successful poke.

Instead, he lets his fingers dance up Riskua's sides, startling a laugh from the girl. His hat flies off, and Shanks has enough consideration to flick it away from their impromptu tickle war, ensuring it would not get flattened. Riskua's giggles are the most joyful thing he's heard in a long time.

Throughout the months he's been gone, he's clashed blades with Mihawk twice, sunk three Marine ships and partied hard until dawn.

None of it was as enjoyable as rough-housing with his daughter though.

"St-Stop! I'm tr-trying ta tra-train!" Riskua chokes out, breathless between her jolted laughter, limbs laced in Haki attempting to push him back and away. But she isn't the only red-head to play about with that power, so Shanks easily keeps pace.

Only when her cheeks are as ruby red as her hair does he relinquish his assault, sitting back on the earth and grinning happily as Riskua attempts to catch her breath.

For all that she's trying to scowl at him, he can feel her joy radiating from her form. It's only now that he's consciously using Haki to look upon her that he realizes the heaviness that usually accompanies her form has disappeared. Even if only temporarily.

She's a reasonably serious child, Shanks thinks. From what he can recall of all the other little munchkins he's seen during his adventures, she's a hell of a lot more determined when it comes to training. He's seen her hand to hand, and while neither Raowl or Mihawk specialize in it, they know enough to get her started on her own path.

After all, before there were any master's to teach a style, the first had to create it themselves. That's what Riskua's doing, experimenting and learning, developing her own style of combat. He knows from his catch-ups with Raowl that their daughter seems rather taken with the idea of twin daggers, something he's going to be on the lookout for when he next heads out to resupply for weaponry.

Riskua knowing how to use some form of sharp, pointy blade will only have him sleeping easier at night. For while this is an exceptionally quiet area of the Grand Line regarding pirate activity, it always has the capacity to not remain so.

Neither he or Mihawk are particularly difficult to recognise in Riskua, and it would only take one idiot with a grudge-

But no, Raowl is here and while not as skilled as either himself or her brother, she's good enough to protect Riskua, with the added incentive to be as vicious as she can manage.

Which is, yeah, Shanks wouldn't want to be exposed to that kind of levels of righteous fury. Raowl can be scary, if she ever dares to put her mind to it.

Thankfully, she the more level-headed of the Dracule siblings.

"I have Papa's birthday present!" Riskua suddenly proclaims, shooting up into a sitting position and slamming one small fist into the palm of her other hand.

Bemused, Shanks nods, even though his birthday was actually months ago. Hell, he's closer to his next one than the one that has already passed.

Still, he allows Riskua up to go and race off to the house, well aware that this could take some time. It's not that she's careless with the possessions she has, Shanks has just long since concluded that Riskua feels safe on her mother's land and cottage.

Thus, she doesn't really think much of dropping whatever she's holding the second she finds something else to occupy her time. Misplacing items in her own territory is just a strange little quirk, and while she always finds them in the end, it's lead to some strange rediscoveries.

Like the time he almost drank the magnet at the bottom of his coffee mug, one she'd dropped into the cup weeks before hand and completely forgotten about. He hesitates to use the word scatterbrained, because it's only the misplacing of objects that the word could be attached to. Yet…

Oh well, just another strange character trait. If it becomes more of a problem, he'll bring it up then.

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By the time he makes it to the door, Riskua is evidentially done rummaging around; with papers thrown from the coffee table and several books having been removed from the bookshelf during her search.

"Here, I made you a tankard. For when you have parties on the ship." It's a bit lopsided, but that's not what has Shanks' so intrigued. The handle is very carefully defined, and when he takes a hold of it, the grooves fit into the curve of his palm perfectly. Made specifically for him and, judging by the tiny fingerprints worked into the ceramic, created by the hands of a six year old.

Pottery isn't exactly practical on a ship, especially like this, but… But that just means he'll have to extra careful with this gift.

That the majority is painted red- his favourite colour- and brown -Riskua's favourite colour- just about finishes it off.

"Thanks, Gully. Best birthday gift yet."

Even if it is over half a year late.

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Riskua's seventh year on this strange world begins with a map book, containing all of the information on the known world. Or rather, as much of the known world as certain authorities would allow.

Uncle Mihawk had handed it over just that morning; and though it wasn't wrapped up, nor proclaimed as such, it's obviously meant to be a birthday present. A way for Riskua to look upon the world beyond her own little island and see just what is out there.

She's not sure if he's trying to tempt her into going adventuring, into becoming a pirate like him, but she appreciates the gift all the same.

While what little the World Government allows to be printed of the Grand Line is incredibly interesting, Riskua is far more focused on the Four Blues. The culture is no doubt a complete flip side of what she's used to; predictably weather patterns, a compass that actually points north, no exceptionally strange wildlife... After seven years on this island, the concept sounds strange. Interesting, but strange.

So Riskua reads.

She reads on North Blue, home to Noland the Liar and the fearsome Vinsmoke family, how the beautiful 'White City' is the sea's claim to fame. She reads of the West Blue, learns what little there is to know of Ohara and studies the islands that were once her father's playground. She learns of Karate Island and the Torino Kingdom.

What she pays the most attention to though, is the East Blue quadrant of this new world. The home of Monkey D. Luffy, the birthplace of Gol D. Roger. So many important things will happen here, even if while they occur they do not appear to be such. For the so called 'Weakest Sea', it certainly has a track record for spitting out tough nuggets. Gol D. Roger, Monkey D. Dragon, Monkey D. Luffy, Roronoa Zoro, Sabo; hell, maybe Ace even counts, given he's raised there. Being raised there... It's difficult to get her tenses right, even now.

She reads all of the politically correct information she can get her hands on, and then with Papa appears three weeks later with a belated birthday gift of his own -a gorgeous little gold locket that she plans to never take off- she interrogates him for the real truth of the world out there.

She 'learns' that 'White City' isn't all pure and good, that Shanks has his own conclusions of just went down in Ohara, that the World Government is full of propaganda to make it seem as if they're on top of everything, when in truth a lot of their control has fallen apart in this Grand Age of Piracy. For really, if they had control of everything, if everything was as well and good as they proclaimed, then surely there's be no pirates running around at all.

As she's currently looking at one of the rising stars of the pirating world, Riskua's pretty damn sure the World Government is one tiny revolution away from falling apart.

Her seventh year is spent studying this world, learning about her surroundings. Because it has been seven years, and she still does not know what she wishes to do with her life.

Maybe she can save some lives, maybe she can help some people, but it's not guaranteed. She might just make things infinitely worse.

So as much as she wants to go and help Law, wherever he may be, and as much as she wants to go and save Sabo from the clutches of his nasty noble family, as much as she wants to save all those characters that now have the potential to be people to her, all the ones who've suffered... she can't.

She could try, certainly.

But a seven year old is not going to do much good right now, even as a Haki user.

So maybe she could help Nami, and maybe she could twist things to help Vivi or Zoro or Usopp. Maybe she could even save Ace from his crippling self doubt.

But the chances of that happening are very, very low.

For all Riskua knows, she is slated for death-before-series-start.

She'll focus on survival before anything else right now, it's the only thing that assures she'll have some breathing room to actually make a solid plan in the future.

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Riskua's seventh year is dedicated to doing little more than preparing; everything she does is dripping with purpose. She sits and she listens to her mother, Dracule Raowl who has managed to make a living on this comfortable little island so far away from any others.

She makes log poses.

Riskua doesn't quite understand the process, feels as if she never will, but she can follow the basic steps. What few she attempts making work, though nowhere as efficiently as her mother's do. They take twice as long to log, but the fact they work at all means they can sell. There is one merchant ship that makes monthly trips to the world outside of their little island, and it is he who sells them. Probably for a higher price than what her mother sells them to him for, but that's just business.

It's still enough for Raowl and Riskua to live off of in relative comfort.

Riskua learns of the islands in the Grand Line from her father and uncle, both of whom have their own collective of epic tales to tell.

Occasionally their sagas will overlap as they meet one another in battle, the ringing song which their blades dance to echoes up and down the Grand Line.

Sometimes, Riskua sits by her window and she listens with a straining ear. Perhaps it is her imagination -most of the times have to be, for her two relatives could not meet that often- but she swears that there are times she can hear the explosive melody as they meet upon the seas in battle. They are both so strong, so powerful.

And as such, they both have their own collection of powerful enemies.

Riskua cannot rely upon the threat of her relations' retaliation to keep those enemies at bay, to remain assured she will not be hurt. The only defence she can be assured of is her own ability to protect herself, for that is something she could never be without.

So Riskua's seventh year is filled with training. As is her eighth.

And perhaps that is a good thing indeed, for her immediate world changes half way into her ninth year.

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Dracule Mihawk has never considered himself a particularly soft man, and he cannot name a single soul who would proclaim such a thing aloud. Dracule Mihawk is not gentle, nor is he soft.

However, he is quite caring towards his dear little sister. And by extension, he has taken to being caring for his niece from the very day that she was born.

Yet, in recent years, now that she has developed a semblance of self and has clearly began her journey towards becoming her own person, he finds himself liking Riskua as a person. Not just because she is his sister's daughter, not for the shared blood that ties them together. No, Riskua is a very interesting little human being.

Now that she has come to resemble a miniature person instead of the pudgy, pliable chunk of flesh she was in her earlier years, he can see her potential.

Oh, she is no swordswoman, nor will she ever be, the nature of the blade escapes her. At least, regarding swordplay that is.

Instead, his sister's daughter favours daggers, a pair of short blades no longer than his palm. Though he has talked to her over the concept of secondary weapons; the girl would like a set of twin daggers with the blade perhaps two or three inches shorter than his forearm. He plans to keep an eye out for her ninth birthday present.

No, the sword will not be her life as it is his, Riskua thrives too much upon hand to hand combat for her to even default to a sabre. With her training in Haki though, the style of combat she is carefully patch-working together is proving especially efficient.

He does not plan to take a punch from now on whenever he runs her through a spar; her last one had left a crater of impact within the dry packed earth on Melring as wide as she stands tall. Discounting any young Devil Fruit users, Mihawk cannot picture Riskua having any trouble with her peers right now.

It doesn't mean it could not happen though; the Grand Line is an exceptionally dangerous place, after all. The only way to ever have a hope of remaining unsurprised is to suspect the unexpected in the first place. Even then the odds you'll come across something startling and potentially hazardous to your health is probably ninety to ten.

It's a dangerous life Mihawk leads, certainly not for everyone. His dear sister had made that clear by settling down, even if it had taken a baby for her to realise life in the Grand Line wasn't for her.

That Raowl has not returned to the open water just proves it. She wouldn't have been the first parent to abandon a child; her love for Riskua greater than her lust for adventures and the ocean's waves.

Question is, what will Dracule Riskua do with her life? Certainly all this time she spends fighting, learning of the world from her books and the adults within her life has to mean something. She is curious; it's only a matter of time before she leaves to witness the world at work in person.

Will she become a marine? A pirate? What end of the pirate spectrum will she fall upon? Closer to his own Marine aligned self, or upon the troublesome side of the scale her father resides?

He cannot see her being a marine; no one from his family, nor a child with the blood of Red Hair Shanks would bow to taking orders.

No, should his dear niece ever set sail upon the vast oceans of the world, it will no doubt be beneath the fluttering form of a Jolly Roger.

Be she a captain or a crew mate, Mihawk can see her as either. But from what personality she has portrayed so far, she will not bend to the lifestyle as a Marine.

If the tiny curling of pride that sits low in his stomach registers within his mind, well Mihawk is not a soft enough man to show it.

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"Oohh, what's that?!"

The high pitched, exuberantly over-curious tones bounce out of the little boy's mouth as he grabs for the shell.

With ease, Shanks removed the trinket from Luffy's reach, batting his hands away. It'd have been a hell of a lot harder if the boy was any older or stronger than he is now. Or if his limbs could do something incredibly stupid, like detach or even stretch.

Shanks pauses for a moment, wondering how Buggy's doing, before he goes back to fending off the little limpet.

He manages to keep the shell from those greedy grasping hands, however the meal he'd barely managed to touch takes the fall in the shell's steed. Shanks'll remember it's sacrifice with a less than warm heart and a far emptier belly.

Still, to save Riskua's -late as always- birthday gift to him from the imminent destruction at the hands of Luffy; well it's a price worth paying.

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They've been in this town for a few months now, visiting the Blue that Shanks' old captain grew up in. Perhaps it's correct to call this place the weakest of the Blues right now, but it hadn't always been.

Only in the aftermath of Gol D. Roger's rise to fame had the East Blue become the weakest. And it was not for a lack of talent.

Instead, fearful of another pirate like Captain Roger rising, the Marines had taken to coming down hard on anyone with even a lick of talent from the East. There's only so much a pirate starting out on their adventure can do when faced with overwhelming odds of Marines.

Only the exceptional cases, be they by strength or luck, would ever get through to the Grand Line. And speaking of exceptional cases-

"You can't just grab at other people's things, Luffy."

The dark haired kid blinks those huge black eyes, lips pursing into a pout as he eyes up the shell. Even as he licks clean the plate that once housed Shanks' meal. His stomach gives a mournful grumble.

"Why not?"

"It's not polite. Like if someone stole your food."

"Ah! What?! Who's staling my food?!"

It's not amusing how his fluffy head swings around, looking for the metaphorical food an enemy presence is about to steal… Okay, so maybe it's a bit funny.

"No! I wanna eat all the meat!" This kid, he's something else.

Introduced by the bar tender as one Monkey D. Luffy, the brat has been begging to be taken out to sea for the entirety of their stay. It's not cute, and it certainly didn't have any effect whatsoever on Shanks' decision to make this town his base of operations during his stay here.

Well, okay, maybe it had a little weight behind his choice. Kid's a brat, but he's loveable about it in a way that makes him difficult to ignore.

Perhaps that's why Shanks feels the need to share his wondrous treasure with the boy, bestowed upon him a whole seven months after his actual birthday had passed.

"Alright Luffy, pay attention because this is one of the two most important treasures I have in my possession." It went without saying that the hat sat upon his infamous hair was the first.

Curiosity piped, Luffy leans so far forwards he almost falls right off the bar stool. Were it not for Yasopp catching him by the back of his shirt, he'd have ended up face planting the floor.

It doesn't surprise him that the whole crew quietens slightly, their gaze lingering on the little shell in Shanks' hand. Of course they've all got a soft spot for his darling daughter, after meeting her who wouldn't have one?

"This is a Tone Dial," Shanks explains, and just like that, the little device is activated.

"-it's autumn here now, and the leaves are starting to fall off the trees. We don't get snow though, so winter's just a bit colder than summer here. Maybe someday I'll get to visit a winter island and actually see some ice outside of those fruity cocktail drinks that Kaa-chan won't let me have-"

The recording stops as Shanks' silencing the Tone Dial.

His clever little daughter's birthday present consisted of her recorded voice, narrating as she went about her adventures upon her little home island in days past. Her thoughts when training, when thinking, just making a record of her life- Shanks loves his little girl.

But the sea calls to him, he could never stay upon dry land for long, nor would he ever forgive himself if he took her out onto the open ocean and put her in harm's way.

With this gift, he has a way to stay close to Riskua while he's away, listening to her tales of days long since past. Not that he'd expect anything else; after a few years, he's kind of gotten used to the late birthday gifts.

In front of him, Luffy looks as if he's had a sudden epiphany, staring fascinated at the shell in Shanks' hand.

"Oohh! So it's a mystery shell! A shell that talks!"

Wait-

"A shel- No Luffy, the shell doesn't talk. It's-"

"But it just spoke."

And then Luffy's finger is already digging for gold in that nasal cavity; Shanks has well and truly lost him by this point.

The shell speaking has been accepted by Luffy as universal fact and not even an act of god will change the kid's mind at this point. Shanks sure as hell isn't willing to try, the kid's as stubborn as a mule.

He can't help but sit back and compare the little tyke with his own daughter. In comparison, Riskua seems so much more mature, and he'd never really realized it until now. This little Luffy is kind of a goof, star-struck by their piracy, certainly.

Still, both he and Riskua look upon him as if it is he who raises the sun and moon, as if he hung the stars in the sky. It's a good kind of feeling.

Yeah, Luffy's a brat, but he's a loveable one at least. Even if he's blatantly ignorant in the ways of the working world. That kind of pure innocence is wonderful to see.

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Maybe the Red Hair Pirates will stick around for a while.

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Well, here's hoping I got the characters right with their personalities; I really enjoyed writing Luffy, more than I thought I would.

Here's the information I have on Riskua's appearance as a child;

o Shoulder length hair, which is now much thicker and heavier than before, falling semi straight and only flicking out at the ends.
o Eyes narrowed out slightly from her time as a toddler, but still reasonably wide.
o Her 'chunkiness' has smoothed out, puppy fat remaining but slender as her training begins.
o She still bites her nails at this point in time, and is picking at scabs.
o Scars include several cuts upon her arms along with grazes on her knees and shins.
o A little gold locket, pendant about half the length of her thumb, birthday gift from Shanks; she never takes it off.

This is just going to be me satisfying a lot of my ASL brother feels, I'll come right off the bat and say it, I love three three little monkeys, so here's hoping I write them right in the future.

Tsume
xxx