Prof. Pirate Chapter 3: Frying and Flying. Enter the Straw hat boy. Catch that right hook and send back an even stronger one Professor!
Siegfried spent his first night on the Baratie wondering if he was going to wake up and be home again every time he closed his eyes. However, The smell of his garden and the sound of his wife never came. Only the ever present ticking of the clock on the wall. The once unnoticed tick and tock seemed to transcend the time it was supposed to be keeping track of, growing until it seemed to be the only sound he would ever hear again. The Prof. Blinked as he stared into the darkness, and then there was light. A blink sleep, this was going to be a long day
A few minutes after waking and dressing, and his morning push-ups, the Professor decided to try and learn about the new land, well sea, that he now resided in, however, there were no books in the small cabin. Though he had some reservations about staying on the same boat that contained a group that had attempted to viciously spoon him just a day ago, he contented himself with the fact that he had nowhere else to go at the moment. Seeing as how the only thing he could see for a good long while was the vast-stretching waters, waters that held things he was fairly sure were a bit more inclined to try and kill him then his current hosts. And besides that, the ship was looking to be a promising source of information on this strange new world. Though, as he sat down in his temporary room on the top floor of the ship, he found himself wondering on his situation.
"Well Siegfried this is another fine mess isn't it? You worked long and hard to become what you are and now the universe saw you had your guard down again and decided to keep throwing those damnable right hooks at you. My friends, my students. Everyone back home; Calvin, Siegfried, Beowulf, Hobbes, Ailbhe, Eir, Meta. Dear Katherine…."
Thorson let out a deep, quiet sigh as he thought of his wife and children.
"They'll be able to keep on without me, I made sure of that. I should probably just accept the fact that-" Then there was a knock at the door interrupting his ruminations.
"Come in" He said. The youth that had spent most of yesterday swearing, cooking, and making some admiringly charming passes at the lady dinners, Sanji, he believed that was his name, opened the door. Thorson gave him a good look over.
The young man had a busy, no-nonsense look about him, and as The Prof. studied his posture, muscle structure, and overall movement, he caught a glimpse of something deep in his psyche, something was giving off the distinctive aura of the kind that Siegfried noted was not something he should ask about. In front of that however, he was giving off a general feeling of stress, as well as aggravation at the fact that he would rather be doing anything other than helping some doddering old man get his day started. At least, that's what the Prof. guessed. Though it remained to be seen-
"Morning you Old fart," Yep, he was right. "I'm surprised that you're up this early. Chef Zeff says that you can help out with some of the ship's duties until we, that is you, figure out where're you're going. You should get some air, old man. Afterwards, go and see if you can pick up any jobs. I'd recommend just staying out of the kitchen, maybe head up to the second masthead, Fettuccini's in bed and claiming his head has been split open with an axe, that means we need another lookout of the morning, try that if your eyes still work properly. Remember, even though it's one strange looking one, and the fact that is still home to a lot of people, I'd advise you to remember that we're still on a ship, and that means anyone that slacks off gets thrown off." The young man finished with some amount of distaste in his voice. Apparently he hadn't completely taken Zeff's ruling on the Prof.'s unintentional disruptions to heart.
Still, Thorson decided that it would probably be a good idea to not upset his precarious housing situation, and besides, it had been a while since he was at sea, and the waif of cold sea air Sanji had brought with him was bringing up old memories of adventure in days long past. The Prof stood up and stretched out his back, he was a good foot taller then the youth in front of him. He looked at the young and a barely noticeable grin appeared in his pristine grey beard. It had been a good while since he'd had the opportunity to use some good ol' sea jargon.
"Aye sous chef Sanji, I'll be right up and about. 'Gonna want me to check if we need some A & A's an' make sure o'that with the ol' marlinspike 'op the mainmast, jus' incase the Chef wants us to luff and touch her before we let go an' haul. If we end up running aground some reef we'll no doubt be kissing the gunner's daughter if the knighthead is fractured." His speech had taken on the distinct accent of a grizzled old seaman.
With this said, the Prof. pulled a small white pipe from his yet unfathomed coat pockets and walked out the door with such great strides, leaving a confused Sanji in his wake. Sanji stood stock still. He briefly wondered if the old geezer actually knew what he was talking about, or if Zeff had just invited a nutcase onboard, before grumbling and attempting to take a drag form his cigarette, only to find that it had been blown out in the sprightly old man's tailwind. He attempted to light it up again but before he could, The Prof. walked back into the room. Sanji stared at the old man and the old man stared back, after looking at him for a minute and frowning, the Prof. grabbed the cigarette out of Sanji's mouth and doused it in the palm of his hand, he did not seem to take note of the burring tobacco. Before the young cook could even get his first curse out at the Old man for his impertinent action, he found the short pipe shoved back in where his beloved cigarette had rested so comfortably. Though his first instinct was to pull the invasive thing out of his face and give the man that was growing swiftly more annoying by the second an 'explanation' why no one should touch his cigarettes, he was forced to inhale the smoke that the pipe was brewing. As soon as it hit his taste buds, all at once, a multitude of new, yet strangely nostalgic scents flooded Sanji's mind. Faint smells of roasting meat, newly chopped crisp vegetables and fresh herbs came rushing into his mind as, for just a brief moment, he remembered what he smelled all those years ago. Though he was not a man to reminisce on the past, especially his own, he had suddenly been transported to his childhood. For just a moment, he glimpsed the one place that held no ill-memory for him, the kitchen, His kitchen. For just that one involuntary breath he took, he could taste the meals that had first awakened his desire to create, and he saw the clear, happy face of the one he wanted to create for the most. He unconsciously savoured the smoky aftertaste of the one half-mouthful he had taken, and stared in quiet disbelief at the softly smiling old man, the short white pipe almost dropping from his slightly parted lips.
The Old Professor spoke in a quiet, kind tone, answering the question that Sanji's face, if not his mouth, was asking.
"I just thought you could use something to relax yourself son. That blend right there is something I worked on for years, it's an item that's very close to my home, just think of this as a sort of favour, to yourself and me. Oh, and perhaps you might think about switching to a pipe? Actually, you can keep that one, I've got a few more tucked away here somewhere. Ah! and as a bonus, it'll make you look like perfect father material. Trust me, I know I've got seven kids after all!" He winked before striding out down the hall again.
As he stood alone in the room, Sanji slowly reached up and took the still smoking pipe from his mouth and stared at the small white object. What did the old bastard put in this thing? He thought, before shrugging and taking another pull from it and walking out of the room, he had food to prepare after all.
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Following Sanji's request and eager to have something to take his mind off his troubled thoughts. Professor Thorson found himself Stepping outside the ship into the cold morning sea air, how he'd missed it! It was a grey, cloudy day, at least for the moment, and the sea was rhythmically crashing heavy against the ship's underbelly. It took Thorson a few minutes to find his sea legs again after placing them in his mental attic. After regaining his balance, He judged it to be about five-thirty in the morning, what a grand time for a bit of climbing. Making his way up the Baratie's surprisingly bouncy rigging, He greeted the man that for the next few hours would be his only companion.
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A few hours later, and Linguini had yet to shut up.
Linguini hadn't expected it from the ship's largely unwanted guest, but he was enjoying his verbal spar with the old Professor. It had been a long time since he or Fettuccini had found someone, besides Chef Zeff and Sanji, outside their home island that could keep an argument up for so long. He began to think that, just maybe, this old Prof. wasn't so bad, even if he did poke a few holes in the starboard bow. He was just finishing a particularly brilliant insult of the old man's lapels when a giant wave hit the ship. He was quick to grab onto the sturdy wood of the railing and steady himself.
" -And'a that's a why your'a lapels would make'a a terrible dipping sauce! Whoa, Careful Prof! You'd a best not take'a fall offa this F*Î(kng thing. Now, where a was I? … Professor?"
Curious, He heard a panicked shout and looked to the Professor's masthead; just in time to see him fall off the railing. Reacting quickly, Linguini called out for help as fast as he could, which, considering how fast he could sling an insult, was pretty darn fast.
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The Professor was a civilised man, he knew how to take punishment and how to return it in equal, if not greater measure. And yet after. Three. Looong. Hours of non-stop verbal combat, he was beginning to feel his age and lose ground as the long-limbed loquacious lackadaisical lad lashed everything from his life to his lapels like lightning without limit or lust for liquid. And the many unimaginable expletives peppered in. It had to stop. It had too! He was too old for this!
As the Professor fervently hoped for some opening to salvage what remained of his long defended verbal territory, a wave, large and laden with the unintentional and oversized answer to his prayers, crashed against the ship, upsetting his rusty sea-legs just enough to have him tumble over the edge of the crow's nest. Thinking quickly with what little movement that still remained to be affected by him before the fall took over, he reached out to grab a hold on the side of the wood. Unfortunately, his arms seemed to have been drained by the climb and the previous day's "swim". His hand slipped and he began to fall head first towards the very hard looking deck. Time slowed to a crawl as he began to think. He supposed that he had lived a good life. Everything was taken care of for his family. He was old and tired. He could, should, just give up now…
Suddenly, Muscles firing hard, bearded soul roaring, moving faster then he had done just the day before, Siegfried was shocked to find himself kicking out at the fast fading wood of the Crow's nest with all the force his old body could muster, his feet just managing to hit the timber with enough force to launch himself away from the fatal direction he had been going in. Instead of crashing to his death, Siegfried pushed himself into the extremely elastic rigging of the second mast, stretching it as if it was a rubber band, before he was shot out with all the force of a cannonball towards the water. He thought he could hear a thick accent crying: " Man overboard!" He hit the water, and everything went black….
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Professor Siegfried woke up in a warm but hard bed, looking around and trying to move, he discovered that his head, torso, and one of his legs were wrapped in bandages. He groaned, so much for his record. This alerted the crew member that was presumably serving as a doctor over to his bed. The Prof. tried to sit up, but quickly regretted the decision as his muscles went through about the thirty-eighth worst pain he'd experienced in them. Evidently, the past two days of exertion had caught up to him and it was not going to be pleasant. A small contributing factor The Prof. noticed as the pain died down was the doctor-chef that seemed to be currently assigned to him, was starting to panic and give what would have been a rather convincing impression of an flapping mother duck in his wild attempts to pacify his charge. He seemed to the Professor like he had little to no experience in his second profession.
"S-Sir, y-you have t-to l-lie s-still! Y-You were a-almost d-drowned, you've g-got to t-take it easy!" He stammered over nearly every word, Siegfried rolled his eyes, clearly the well intentioned young man could use a bit of confidence, or at least a good old metaphorical kick in the pants.
"Hey! calm down son," said the Prof. in his deep, even voice. "I was only sling-shot into the ocean at speeds that would have broken a normal man in half, its not a big deal. I'm not going to just fall apart."
He descended into fierce grumbling, and as the stuttering doc began to try and force him to go back to sleep, The Prof. started lecture on how to calm nerves and the importance of effective bedside manner as the crew member stationed to him started to perspire. The old man was weirding him out something fierce.
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A couple of days later and Professor Thorson was through sitting in bed and dealing with peeling vegetables and trying to teach his doctor the finer points of actually living like a normal man, cracked bones or no, he had a cunning plan.
Waking up before the crack of dawn, he hopped out of the medical bed and fled the accursed hospital room, he swore that some little bastard had painted the room in those sick off-green hospital colours and it, along with the constant stammering and quivering was starting to get to him. Along the constant visits from the cousins, he knew now why they were stuck on lookout duty. He managed to sneak into the pantry unnoticed and created a lovely sandwich: A foot long. Wide, and tall. It was beautiful.
Evading his way through the now awake staff, he made his way back to his room and began his morning push-ups. Thankful though he was that his arms had gone relatively undamaged, he was surprised to see that not only had he not lost his count over his period of inactivity, he was actually surpassing it. Strange? Yes. He noted that he would have to explore this later, adding it to his ever increasing list of things to discover about the new land. Once he found some bloody land anyway.
Eventually people started coming into the restaurant again, The Prof. Had stashed himself in the rafters with a good supply of food, enough that he wouldn't go hungry, and not enough that anyone would notice, he had picked up the skill early in his youth. Ah, what a rascal he'd been. Switching his thoughts to more pressing matters, he had learned that a lot of customers came mainly for the fights that sprung up between the crew and the apparently fairly common pirate problem. Well, at least he'd learned something about this world, he mused as he flipped through some old newspapers he had gathered out of the trash. It was submerged in overconfident psychopaths, ineffectual and unsympethetic government navel forces, and very strange weather. "Shame about the customers though, the Baratie chefs evidently knew how to make a good bit of meat." He thought as he chewed upon one of the mentioned bits of food. Finished with his breakfast, he decided to go look for Zeff and see what answers he could find with the man that he had struck up a mutual respect with.
A few minutes later, and Zeff heard a knock at his door.
"Who is it? If it's Linguini, no, you only get one day off a month for hangovers, and you know that so stop asking!" He shouted. Evidently, he had received quite a few visits as well.
"No Zeff, nothing to fear, it's Thorson, may I come in?" He asked
"Oh? I thought you'd be in med for a few more days Prof. Yeah come on in." He responded in his gruff voice
Thorson walked into the room. Zeff was sitting by his desk, it looked like he had just finished something, probably bills, He thought. Taking a seat on one of the room's empty chairs, he Began to question Zeff on the matter of, well, the world. Eventually, they came to the topic of the myths of the Grand Line, the pirates, and the strange objects known only as Devil Fruits. and it was here that The Prof's interests were peaked.
"So, if I understand you correctly, there are such strange things happening in this place, this, 'Grand Line'? That I might actually find out a way to get back home?" He asked.
"Maybe, maybe. But I thought you weren't interested in going back? What made you change your mind?" The mustachioed man asked in return, stroking the long plaits of said mustache.
Professor Thorson considered his question. Why did he suddenly want to go back? He thought he'd made peace with his situation. "Well I don't really know, I guess I-" He was cut off by the sound of cannon fire, some young voice shouting something about gum very loudly, a canonball almost punching a hole through his chest, had he not barely managed to dodge it, however, it then exploded, throwing whatever expectations Thorson had for logic to be blown up in much the same way he and the Head chef almost were.
Following his and Zeff's collapse from the shock wave and shrapnel, a large group of crew members massed into the room and spent a good minute making sure everything was fine before Zeff had to threw them out and remind them that they still had customers to serve. This was yet again followed by two more chefs dragging in a young boy with a straw hat, saying that it was his fault for the cannonball. And lo, the boy said the words that introduced Professor Thorson to the one man that would one day be renown across the world!
"Sir! I'm very sorry!" He was on his knees when he looked and saw Zeff's peg leg. " AAGAGUGGUHGHG! Your leg!" The young man screamed
"Idiot!" Bellowed the irate cook, and stomped on the boy's face.
This was going to be one Looooooooong day.
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Author's notes:
Hey guys, sorry this one took so long, I've been kinda busy as of late and, midway through this one, I realized that I was making Sanji start to like the Old Prof. With little reason, and that is something that I find hard to take in any story. But I still fear that the character interactions in this chapter may have been not as good as I wanted. But hey, that's what you guys re here for right? I mean, I did start writing these so I could become a better writer. So please if you have any criticisms for what I'm doing, like the slightly more contemplative way I tried to write this chapter, just tell me. Other then that though, Man! Has it been amazing that so far, all of my reviews have been positive! It's a great feeling to know that you made something that made a lot of people laugh, In a good way I hope.
Also, I made some edits to the previous chapters. Grammar, more jokes, spelling, that kind of stuff.
Thanks to Black dove white dove, Isafish, Jack Leslie (Yes, I am a man), and all of you repeated reviewers, thanks ever so much.
- B. R. III
P.S: Thanks Kaori, I wasn't sure how people would react to that scene, so I made a couple of small changes based on your comments.
