After his talk with Thatch and coming to the conclusion that the young woman had been an exceptional fighter (he wasn't losing his touch thank the sea's) he had finally been able to properly focus on his damn paperwork (they were pirates, was it really necessary?). Yes he understood, he'd gotten as much hassle from his brothers as he had expected and silently swore to never put off sleep or work again.
Ever.
Ever again.
Marco sighed as he put the last piece of paper in the precariously stacked 'done' pile. He stretched his arms over his head, groaning when something in his shoulder popped and shifted. He stood up languidly, body stiff from being in the same position for so long. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed at his sore neck, looking at the clock on the wall.
Immediately he wished he hadn't. Not that it would be the first time Marco had pulled an all-night'er, but this would be his third night in a row. This was just the backlash from not doing the paperwork for his division! He still needed to go over the budget limit with Izo, get the food supplies from Thatch, get the nurses personal supply list for the infirmary and medical instruments, Jiru wanted more target dummies, Blenheim was talking about getting more Adams wood, They needed to restock the gun powder stores-
"Ugh!" He flopped back down into his chair, feeling the exhaustion rest deep in his spine. Having the phoenix model saved him from scarring and most disease, but general exhaustion seemed to be incurable, even with a devil fruit. Apparently staying up past breakfast for three nights in a row wasn't the best thing to-!
Jolting up Marco whipped his head back to the clock. 7:53! He jumped to his closet cursing. The commander meeting started at eight on the dot! Throwing clean clothes on the bed, Marco took possibly the third fastest shower of his life, patting himself down and tripping into his pants once he was out. Grabbing the papers from his desk as he slipped on his shirt and ran out of the cabin, with his hair still damp. Of course, it was five after by the time he got to the meeting room. Breathing in, he tried to calm his heart down, opening the door as quietly as he could-
"YOU'RE LATE!"
"Gah!" Marco dropped his neatly done papers, eyes closing as he grabbed his chest.
"Oops." Thatch straightened fully from where he'd jumped out from, several eyes looking over from where they sat at a large round table. "You okay, man? Didn't mean to hide myself that well."
"It's fine." Marco huffed. "Just surprised me that's all." Marco collected the papers, not noticing how Thatch stilled at the omission. Sending a slight glare towards the still chuckling Curiel as he sat down followed -slowly- by Thatch. Sending a curious glance at the empty chairs as he organized the haphazard pile in front of him.
"Atmos and Blenheim had other business and it's Jiru's turn with the training room. There was a problem in the gunpowder stores so Izo and Blamanco are going to be down there most of the day." Vista chirped dutifully. Fossa and Numar groaned at either side- Marco tried not to smirk at the irony since they had won his sake the nights before.
"Lets jump in then." Marco nodded to Vista, pulling out forms for the others they straightened up in their seats. "We make port at the supply Island in six days; seven if the wind breaks like navigation says it will. We need to prioritize food and medical first, beyond that we should-."
Thatch zoned out, sitting a few seats down on the opposite side of Marco. It was obvious how he slouched onto the table that the commander was tired. As Marco droned on, it occurred to Thatch how little he'd seen of the first division commander since their talk. Sure Marco had skipped breakfast, but he usually grabbed a coffee and some fruit anyway. 'But,' he thought, 'I could always switch to the serving table. Sure he doesn't need a baby sitter but no one would argue that he's looked better...' That settle, Thatch sat straighter in his seat. Grinning innocently at Marco's suspicious glance. Reports and budgets were discussed and supplies for the next island (perpetual summer islands were somehow worse than perpetual winter islands) and a casual reminder that food and medicine were to be restocked before anything else (pointedly alcohol)
"Well that should take care of the budget for the next two or three islands," Marco drawls, " Course we'll have to adjust supplies according to how long the log pose takes. Anything else before we close up?" Marco closed the folder in front of him, rubbing a hand down his face wearily
"Yeah," Blamenco raises his hand, staring at Marco confused, "Where you planning on getting your bags checked when we make port?"
Marco frowns, scrunching his nose."'Bags'?" he parrots.
"You know, the ones you've been lugging under your eyes since yesterday." The blond deadpans as Blamenco snickers and receives a high five from Vista before becoming somber. "Seriously Marco when was the last time you slept?"
"Since there's no more important things to clear up I'll just be on my way." Before anyone can say otherwise, the first division commander is out the door and out of the hall before they can even open their mouths.
"Ok is it just me?" Fossa ventures, "or was that out of it, even for Marco." He looks around the table, concerned.
"Maybe he's still pissy about the pitching match...?" Vista trailed off as Thatch sighed, shaking his head at the door.
"He's not dumb enough to lose sleep over that. But he hasn't been on his paperwork, so now he's moody and overworking himself."
Fossa sat up at this. "Oh?" his crooked smile widened as he looked around the table. "So why don't we all help him 'relax'?"
…
After informing the other commanders about the meeting it was decided that they'd take turns 'helping' Marco. Jozu started by pulling him away to read in a quiet room. It worked… for twenty minutes. It was easy to forget how fast the other man could read with or without his glasses. Next after that, Thatch switched out Marco's coffee and teas with decaf. Naturally Marco figured it out right away, and it took the rest of the first day for him to figure out that Thatch had talked his division into conspiring with him.
Marco knew something was up by the third day and by the sixth day it escalated beyond simply 'relaxing'.
Marco knew what they were doing. He knew why they were doing it and he knew that it was meant to take his mind off of 'things'- and it did.
Because what Marco knew -at that moment- was that he couldn't wait to get the hell away for a drink.
So, for the sake of his ship brothers (and his sanity) he "privately" told Thatch that he wanted something 'hot, soothing, and sweet'. Naturally the whole kitchen staff knew by the time Marco got his drink, and soon after the whole deck would have heard about it.
Hopefully he would get a moment of silence so he could have an 'in' day and read some old novellas that -to his horror- were collecting dust.
Marco got to his room without interruption, tray in hand. Setting it down on the desk he walked to the other side of his bed, settling down in an old armchair. Once settled, he sighed into his steaming cup (he couldn't tell what it was but damn, did it taste good!) wondering if he shouldn't go along with it, play pranks and games with them for a bit. He didn't get to join in on the fun- not that he didn't love his brothers antics. Being the responsible brother had its drawbacks at times- especially if your younger brothers kept pulling you away from the paperwork that needed done before they docked.
If they would just let him focus on his paperwork for twenty minutes then he'd happily join the next party that was thrown.
But they didn't- so pissed and sulky he would be.
Outside the hall a sudden thud against the wall made him jump, his drink nearly tilting onto his book.
"GUYS DON'T GO MAKING A LOT OF NOISE BY MARCO'S DOOR! HE'S HAVING A 'ME' DAY!"
"Oh Sh- SORRY MARCO! NOTHING TO SEE HERE- OW! Why'd you hit me?!"
"Dumbass! Don't yell at him through the door! You're only disturbing him more!"
"Damn! I didn't think of that! SORRY!"
"Would you shut up?"
"You shut up!"
"Oh yeah? Make me!"
"WOULD BOTH OF YOU IDIOTS SHUT-!"
"SHH!"
" Oh- you, 'shush'!"
'I'm grateful but,' Marco sighed, 'A bar does sound pretty good right now.'
...
It happened after dinner on the sixth day. Most of the crew were lazing about on deck, with a good view of the setting sun. The sky a beautiful blaze of orange and dark blue. Chattering voices carrying on about old stories, new adventures, and off-tune singing could be heard just above the sound of waves hitting the boat. Partying and using the rest of the alcohol stores in preparation for the island tomorrow.
"WHAT THE FRESH HELL?" Four words rang clear and most of the deck was silenced immediately but picked up again shortly after clearing the main hall for whoever came crashing through.
"Gurarara, it appears Marco is finally out of his room" Pops laughed around his sake. Thatch and Fossa sat beside the giant chair, mugs half raised as they looked around curiously.
"About time to," hummed Izo, from his perch on the armrest. "Any longer and it would have had to of been switched out." a shouted name and screaming could be heard below deck, approaching fast. "Ah, he figured it out fairly quick." Izo commented as he cleaned his flintlock. "I'd thought as much. Marco was there when it happened"
"Wait, when what happened?" Thatch looked around lost.
"Oh yeah!" Fossa laughed, "You were still in the infirmary because of your concussion! On one of the islands we stopped on while you were on bed rest-!"
"I'M NOT SORRY!"
"GET BACK HERE YOU-!"
"-Blamenco found some questionable fluids." Fossa continued despite a blur of white-Blamenco- purple and… green?- ran past screaming. They circled the chair before running towards the side of the ship. The now green Marco gaining fast. "He kept them for testing but if it gets left out in the open for too long it starts to smell."
A large splash is heard somewhere behind and as they turn they see a disgruntled and slime covered Marco moving -hopefully- towards the shower.
"Damn. Better go get the ladder." Thatch put his drink down, running over to the side where someone had already went down to get the pocket man, muttering 'get some slime for myself.'
If Thatch noticed Izo's stare he didn't say anything.
...
A few hours after Blamenco's prank had finally been cleaned up (and the bathrooms had been silently dubbed as 'emergency only'), Izo decided to step in. It was up to all of them to get Marco to loosen up and get the edge off before they left the next island. He ran his battle strategy in mind as he glided down the halls of the Moby. After the catastrophe in the gunpowder room had been sorted out (and liquids in any container were banned from the storage room indefinitely) Izo had met up with Jozu to get the run down on the meeting. Hearing in part about Thatch worrying over Marco.
That would not do.
Soon enough he comes to a stop in front of an old scratched up door pausing for a moment, before knocking.
The third knock is barely out before the door is yanked open.
"Thatch, so help me, I'm gonna-! Oh," Marco stops, scowl melting off as he notices the geisha's slightly taken aback face, "Izo… Hey." Marco pokes his head out, looking down both ends of the hall before pulling Izo into his room by the kimono.
"What the hell?" Izo yells, straightening out the non existent wrinkles. "Was that really necessary?" Marco, for his part, had the decency to look apologetic.
"Sorry, sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck, "It's just, Thatch and the chefs keep bringing by these big nosed fish, trying to get a laugh out of me over it ~yoi. It would be funny," Marco flushed, looking distant and disturbed, "If it weren't for the smell."Izo hummed. It was understandable that Marco was disturbed still. It had taken him the rest of the night to get out of the shower and he'd ordered Blamenco to clean it by himself afterwards. What Izo need to know as it was crucial to his plan, was if Marco was still pissed.
'Well what they say about poking sleeping bears and all...'
"I suppose I understand. After all I'm sure that after yesterday you've had quite your fill of awful smelling things." Going by Marcos grunt, the bear was still pissed and he had to fight the upwards twitch of his mouth. "Actually that's the main reason I came to see you." He turned around, glancing over Marcos room, and eyed the mostly finished paperwork on the desk
Marco frowned thoughtfully. "Oh?"
"Yes, because of the accident this morning at breakfast- not that you were there," Izo couldn't say he didn't enjoy the guilty shrug he saw from the corner of his eye. They'd all given him shit for staying in his room, but the cross dresser wouldn't be able to consider himself a brother if he didn't have his fun razzing the blonde as well. "There was a rowdy moment at the mess hall and my favorite kimono-."
"Which one?" Izo scowled, turning to the blonde at the interruption.
"My. Favorite. Kimono." He repeated over Marco chuckling. "Was stained as a result. Since Blamenco is on my shit list, I figured you'd like to help me make the revenge more... memorable."
Marco deadpanned. "You mean you want me to help you scar him." Izo smiled, and for a moment Marco almost felt bad for the sixth commander. Over time the crew learned, as pleasant as Izo's smile was- when it was said with a certain tone or a specific name, shit was going to go down.
"I knew there was a reason you were my favorite brother."he said. Marco raised his eyebrows, amusement clear on his face.
"Oho!" he smirked, "Even more than Ol' Thatchy ~yoi?" Izo's smile vanished and was replaced by an elegantly raised eyebrow.
"Watch it bird brain, you'll be next on the chopping block."
Marco couldn't help but to lean his head back, letting out a barking laugh. Despite being half serious- Izo decided that getting Marco to laugh was worth it, and that he wouldn't get him back for the jab… Yet.
After all, they had a prank to plan.
...
"SON OF A-!"
The shout was accompanied by crashing and several 'bang!'s. The only ones to rush outside were mostly chefs, preparing for breakfast and those that had just been relieved from the midnight shift. It was rare to see anyone without a job schedule up this early in the morning seeing how it was still dawn.
Which is why the fourth division was shocked to a stand still once they reached the deck.
There, running around the main deck, was Blamenco; hopping, skipping, jumping, flipping- all the while muffling his own shouts and yelps. It was well known that, commander or no, waking up the wrong person at too early an hour meant certain death. Especially if you woke up one of the nurses during shift change.
Blamenco knew this better then most (being a pocket man had its setbacks when people used you to store their alarm clocks). As they watched the little show, they realized that, as he moved around, things were dropping out of his pockets. Now this wouldn't normally be a big deal, but it wasn't until they took a closer look that they understood the large man's urgency.
The little things were moving.
Immediately, the reaction to this was noticeable, especially if you were Thatch who -ranking aside- was deathly afraid of bugs.
Like the one inching it's way past his foot.
Needless to say, that morning, the Moby received a very abrupt wake up call in the form of a high pitch screech.
And two uproarious laughs.
…
Apologies to any and everyone who reads this, for taking so long to write it; especially to rowlan who I promised to get the chapter out by last Sunday T~T
I am so SO sorry
Honestly I suck at plot really bad, and I wasn't sure how to fill in for most of this. I feel transition is off and that I didn't put in enough detail and connection so I'm probably going to edit and rewrite the hell out of it once I finish it. ^w^
Thanks for reading this instead of doing your work!
I try to respond to Reviews so feel free to leave a comment!
Actually please comment, I like talking to people xD