Here's another drabble, this time partailly inspired by Black Lagoon.
Rating T-ish, no beta.
Song of the drable: Fly On The Wall by Thousand Foot Krutch.
In the dim light of the bar it wasn't easy to see if there were people hiding in the shadows, however Marco wasn't worried about that. No one in this bar was stupid enough to start a fight with Whitebeard's men, well aware that old man could wipe out anyone dumb enough to do that. Marco leaned back in his chair checking the hand he got in poker. It wasn't good but it wasn't bad either. With some difficulty he chose three cards to change and leaned forward to put them on the table. Difficulty consisted of him having a lap full of a young man with unruly black hair that was hiding his face in the crook of Marco's neck. This young man was dressed in a pair of black cargo shorts with a big hunting knife strapped to his belt and black combat boots; his torso bare displaying several tattoos.
The biggest tattoo was on the young man's back, a purple and white mark of the Whitebeard family. A smaller one was on his left arm, big letters ASCE with crossed out S and another was on his right shoulder – an elaborated drawing of a phoenix, marking the young man as Marco's property. The young man seemed asleep but Marco knew it wasn't the case – ever since he bought Ace he noticed that the young man had trouble sleeping and eating, sometimes going for days without sleep or food. Almost a year passed since then and Ace still refused to sleep for more than an hour a day and only if Marco was standing guard, not that the blond could blame him.
The new cards were even worse than the previous ones so Marco decided to fold. Young man in his lap shifted a little, warning him about a threat from behind.
"What are you doing here, Thatch?" Marco asked when a gun touched the back of his head.
"I was feeling like frying a turkey today," the man behind him answered.
"Please put away the gun," Marco said with a sigh.
"That's new, you don't beg normally," Thatch laughed.
"I wasn't talking to you. As much as I would like to put a hole through Thatch's blabbing mouth, he's still part of the family," the blond said, his left hand soothingly stroked Ace's back.
"Hey, I don't have a blabbing mouth!" Thatch exclaimed angrily, putting his gun in its holster. "Aren't you playing it a little close, Marco? Allowing your new plaything to touch your weapons?" The man with pompadour walked around the table and sat in a chair across from Marco; the man occupying that very chair fled as soon as Thatch set his eyes on him.
"I remember saying that very thing to you about Izou," Marco snorted, reaching for the bottle on the table.
"And I still remember that, Marco," a beautiful Asian man dressed in traditional Japanese clothes moved to sit on a chair next to Thatch.
"Sorry, I am not a very trusting person," the blond smiled, taking a sip from his bottle; the game forgotten after all the participants fled the table.
"I can see that," Thatch snorted, waving to waitress to get to the table.
"How was your trip? Have you seen Oyaji yet?" Marco asked; Ace in his lap tensed again when new people walked into the bar.
"Like you haven't been reading my reports," Thatch rolled his eyes as he ordered his drink.
Meanwhile Ace raised his head to follow the newcomers with his eyes. Marco looked at them too – normally customers didn't get that much attention from his companion, there had to be something special about them. It weren't guns – every person in this bar had one save for Ace who preferred his hunting knife. Newcomers took a table in Marco's direct line of sight and openly stared at the mark on the young man's back. More people flooded into the bar, standing in a ring around Marco's table; other customers, sensing a brawl, hurried to get out of the bar before they got caught in a crossfire.
"Zis cood get really ugly," said one of the men at the table with a thick accent. "Give us ze runt and ve vill leev."
"Ой, что-то мне не верится," (Why don't I believe you?) Marco tried to guess the language the men spoke.
"Честное слово. Отдай нам щенка и мы уйдем." (Honest, just give us the runt and we'll go.)
"Понятия не имею о чём ты." (I have no idea what you're talking about.) Marco said, he didn't like where this conversation was going; Ace in his lap was like a coiled spring, ready to jump into action any second.
"О щенке у тебя на коленях. Наш пахан хочет его обратно," (I'm talking about the runt in your lap. Our boss wants him back) the man elaborated.
"Ничего не знаю, я за него заплатил как положено." (I don't know anything of sorts, I paid for him properly.) the blond answered, moving his right hand to his gun, ready for worse. Thatch and Izou didn't understand the conversation, but they caught the mood, getting their guns out.
"И мы вернем тебе деньги, не сомневайся. Серый, деньги, живо," (And we will give you your money back, don't worry. Sery, money, quick.) the man signalled to one of his henchmen and an open suitcase full of money appeared on Marco's table.
"И зачем же он вам понадобился? Продавали вы его весьма охотно, первому встречному," (Why would you need him? You were pretty eager to get him off your hands) Marco played for time, tapping his fingers on the gun to signal Thatch and Izou.
"Пахан передумал. Соскучился." (Boss changed his mind. He missed the brat.)
"Ага..." (Aha...) Marco nodded thoughtfully, noticing Ace's white-knuckled grip on the knife. He looked up to see the young man's face and in the grey eyes he saw it clearly – Ace would rather slit his own throat than return to these men. For as long as Marco had him Ace never said a word despite understanding several languages, so the barely audible 'please' came like a thunder on a sunny day. Marco smiled warmly at him and turned to the negotiator. "Sorry, not interested."
Then, before any of the men around them could react, he drew both of his guns; Ace already out of his lap, slitting a throat of a man standing behind Marco. The fight was violent but extremely short – the men around them were just henchmen, all brawns and no brains. Before they understood what was going on, Marco emptied both of his clips into the negotiator and the men behind him. Thatch and Izou weren't asleep either, effectively holding a round defence. Where Ace was Marco could only tell by the screams of pain and horror – he knew first-hand that the young man was extremely proficient with a knife.
The fight was over in a matter of seconds. Marco turned around to check where Ace was, slightly worried despite being aware of his skills. The young man's eyes widened when he saw Marco point a gun at him and when the shot sounded, he flinched but the pain never came. Instead there was a thud behind him, making him turn around swiftly, but the henchman was already dead.
"Sorry about the mess, Shakky. You can take the suitcase as a compensation," Marco said loudly. He moved to the exit but stopped when there weren't any footsteps behind him like he was used to. "What are you standing around for? Let's go home and get you into the shower quickly, you're soaked in blood," he said to Ace.
Young man beamed at Marco, quickly catching up to the blond.
"You're not hurt, are you?" Marco asked and Ace shook his head, smiling happily at him. "Let's go, then."
The presence of inspiration is very vague XD
Thanks for reading, reviewing, favs and follows :D
~Rhe.
