One Piece: The Gold Rush Pirates
Chapter Seven: Decisions of the Longarmed and Dangerous
Author's Note: Hello readers, I apologize for the hiatus but life has a nasty habit of getting in the way of hobbies. I've also just discovered wow so that takes up a lot of my time I'm sorry to say. I will try to stick to a schedule from now on.
I will admit I'm not good at introspection pieces, but I'm practicing the art. So if this next bit isn't up to some of your usual standards I apologize.
I'll just...get on with it now then.
Tor'yyg is another character created for out weekly D&D sessions, Played by the same guy who plays Stratus. Hope you enjoy him as much as we do.
Also, for reasons I'm not quite sure of, I put in a slight family guy reference. See if you can spot it.
P.S. I don't own One Piece, just my own characters.
Nikomu City: Diamond District
Stratus sighed deeply and wondered, not for the first time nor the last, how in the hell he had gotten mixed up with such an insane crew.
His part in the plan was fairly simple, but it put him directly in the line of fire. As usual he was the first to brag about how many marines he was going to take out, right up until they told him how many marines there were, and that he would be directly in the line of fire and under the scrutinizing eyes of Lieutenant Juarez D. Black himself.
Stratus understandably took exception to that. Had he mentioned yet that he would be in directly line of sight to about a dozen well trained marines and their lieutenant with a penchant for ruthlessness against pirates?
After twenty minutes of begging and cajoling he was offered a barrel of grog and a running tap in his room, but only if it was shut off during the day Stratus countered with ten barrels of rum and a unlimited access to the tap. Once the swelling from the lumps on his head had gone down he'd settled for three barrels of rum and access to the tap on his off duty hours only. Flynn threatened him severely, replacing his alcohol with water a cardinal sin in the young swordsman's eyes, if he was caught drinking on the job.
So now he grumbled and groused as he strode through the Diamond District in search of a food cart, a chef's uniform, enough food to feed dozens of sailors fresh on shore leave.
"Catch us some fish Stratus, wake up Stratus, stop ogling that barmaid Stratus," he muttered.
Why he got stuck with the crap jobs he never knew.
(:::::)
Fishmen are widely believed to be the most discriminated against races in the world. The problem is more pronounced in the four blues, where people have never seen humanoids of the watery race before. Though the problem also persists in the Grand Line itself, where humans are far more likely to have seen or even dealt with fishfolk as part of their daily routines. Many oceanic humanoids found themselves victims of price gouging, theft, and even violence. Rarely were they treated fairly or with kindness. Most preferred to ignore them completely if they did anything at all. One other race has the dubious claim to fame of being almost as prejudiced against as the fishmen.
Perhaps it was due to their gangly limbs or strange style of dress. One also couldn't ignore their barbaric practices of slavery, kidnapping, and extortion. There were also the unsavory and downright derogatory rumors many of the more learned, in their own eyes anyway, races spread about them. Whatever the reason was it didn't matter to one particular specimen right now, all he knew was that this was the fifth job this week he'd lost because of his heritage.
Tor'yyg Navoo brought his massive hammer down in one swift stroke and splintered the table he was sitting at a moment before. The thin, weedy excuse for a man tried to get out of the way of his wrath, only to trip and land on his backside with a yelp of both pain and fear. The two bodyguards behind him exchanged a glance, each hoping the other would go first if the applicant went much farther.
"What do you mean I'm denied!?" Tor'yyg roared.
"Th-that's self explanatory," Mr. Evans squeaked in a rare moment of bravery, "You're too hot headed, prone to vi-violence, impulsive, and a lo-"
Tor'yyg's left arm snaked out from his billowing sleeve and snatched the man up off the floor to pull him the full six foot length of the room. His bodyguards stepped forth to do their jobs, but a sharp look from the warrior made them reconsider their course of action.
"Go on," he growled low in his throat, "finish your sentence."
Stephen Evans looked into those dark brown eyes set in that angular face locked in the beginnings of a snarl. His brown hair was elaborately braided in a tight topknot that ran down his back and partially hidden under a simple black chef's hat stamped with the symbol for delicious. He wore a loose red tunic under a gray chef's apron and loose black pants. He mustered what courage, or foolishness, he had left and stared down his long nose.
"A," Tor'yyg clenched his fist in a clear threat and simultaneously cutting off the weedy man's flow of air, "stand up guy with a glowing personality, but we're just not accepting applicants for a chef for House Evans right now," he squeaked with a weak chuckle.
"That's what I thought," he finished with a sneer, dropping him back on his butt with a heavy thud..
He stormed out through the gilded double doors daring anyone to approach as he stalked across the expansive yard amidst the yell's that "head's would roll for letting the freak in."
Tor'yyg didn't wait for the wrought iron gates to open before he drew back his hammer and slammed it against the brick wall encompassing the expansive estate with a resounding crack. Once, twice, on the third strike the wall collapsed outward in a shower of metal reinforcement and brick dust. He took no small amount of pleasure in the shrieks that ensued from the mansion.
With a considerably lighter step he strode through his makeshift door with a salute of his hammer to the stunned gatekeeper.
Tor'yyg Navoo hated this goddamned town, with all it's pompous, prejudiced idiots. The posh white buildings of the Diamond District seemed to mock him with their unapproachable faces. The click of his heels on the paved and swept sidewalk sounded like mocking laughter to his ears. The cloying scent of flowers assaulted him. He walked down the street among the stares and whispers and, often undisguised, hatred and weathered it all stoically. The marines were even less helpful, prone to taking hm in for questioning under the suspicion of pirate activity. Which was a fancy way of saying that when any new pirate group was even rumored in the area, he was the first and only one called in to make sure he wasn't affiliated with them in any way. The only outward sign on his distaste was the white knuckled grip he kept on the metallic hilt of his steel hammer.
Five years ago he washed up on this town after willingly separating from his tribe and remaining family save for his brother. Even among his kin he has a fierce reputation for a surly demeanor and was too quick to settle an argument with fists rather than words. Better that he left on his own accord, before they were forced to exile him. Tor'yyg spent weeks on the sea in the company of his brother and closest companion. In all the world it seemed as if Devo Navoo was the only one who could brave the storm of his temper and come out on top, unscathed even.
One day after a particularly brutal fight that left Tor'yyg a broken mess, bedridden for three days, and his brother wholly unharmed, Devo gave him a piece of wisdom that stuck with him to the core of his being.
"I used to be just as angry as you, but then I learned to cook. The searing heat tempered my passions, the meticulous preparation and attention to detail quieted my soul, and the sheer variety of dishes keeps my busy. Because of this I found my nakama. Today, I shall begin passing on my skills to you in hopes you find somewhere that you can be at peace."
One year later Devo left and here he was today. His hopes nearly crushed and his talents wasted by disuse. All because of the hatred and suspicion on the hearts of men.
So much for inner peace.
The only thing that made this town remotely bearable was a small diner/bar run by kindly old couple. They took him in, despite the jeers and protests of the other townsfolk, and gave him a place to stay. A purpose and place to practice his craft. Sure not many would eat food prepared by someone like him and he even offered to hide himself for their sake, but they wouldn't hear of it.
"People would come around eventually or not at all," they said," if they don't then they didn't want such closed minded fools in their restaurant anyway."
That was a month ago, and they had been steadily losing business ever since. It was the main reason he wanted to leave, so that they could prosper again.
Damn this wretched town and it's ugly-
He stopped short and stumbled backwards, which is more than he could say for the shorter man who ran into him. He opened his mouth to offer a rare apology, but was cut off.
"Watch where they hell you're going you blind idiot!" Stratus yelled at him as he stood and dusted himself off.
Tor'yyg tensed visibly.
"Look, I-" he began stiffly.
"What are you doing running down the middle of the street anyways? You the mayor here? You own the street?" his feather's ruffled in agitation.
The chef's last nerve was beginning to fray. His next words were forced through clenched teeth. "If you'll just lis-"
"Ah, look who I'm talking to," Stratus waved a hand and turned away," Just another idiot in a town of idiots."
That did it. The mere notion of being compared to anyone in this godforsaken town sent his last grip on restraint flying away like an umbrella in a hurricane.
The full six feet of his arm shot out like a snake adding to the impact of the hammer as it crashed into the young swordsman's back and bore him into the ground. Stratus rolled, unsheathing his sword and bringing it up instantly to guard against another attack. What he found was the man who was distracted a moment ago absolutely wrathful and prepared to strike him again.
"You have the misfortune to have caught me on an incredibly bad day. I'm frayed to the last raw nerve. My patience is at an all time low and some preening jackass is in my face practically begging me to shuffle him off this mortal coil! So let me tell you what you're going to do. You're going to sheathe that worthless piece of tin you call a sword, step out of my way, and continue on your life devoid of anything resembling taste or pallet before I de-bone you like a chicken!"
Tor'yyg was well beyond livid now, he was fast approaching frothing at the mouth enraged. There was a dangerous tick under his left eye and his face was an ugly shade of purple. Veins stood out in his neck and forehead like pressure valves ready to blow. Several onlookers began to run as fast as they could in the opposite direction of the longarm's intended target.
Unfortunately for everyone involved Stratus had never in his life possessed the twin gifts of good judgment and tact.
"Make me," he sneered.
(:::::)
The long-armed bastard struck him like a bat out of hell. The hammer shattered his guard like a dry twig and had enough force left over to send him flying down the street and crumple against an iron fence. All he could do for a moment was lay there as his world exploded in pain and he gasped for air.
Tor'yyg was upon him in an instant.
Stratus rolled away from the mangled remains of the fence just as the hammer fell to pulverize that was left of it into useless scrap.
The winged man stumbled to his feet and brought up his guard again, for whatever good it would do him. He immediately activated the heat dial imbedded in the hilt of his blade. If this guy was going all out so would he.
"What now you long armed bastard!" he crowed.
Tor'yyg watched him carefully, or rather his sword. The chef knew heat almost intimately after many years working a kitchen. The glowing hot blade held no fear for him, after all, seared cuts of meat had better distributed heat.
He snorted in disgust and rushed forward, "Fire does not frighten me little fowl!"
Stratus had to concede two points. First, this bastard was fast. He all but teleported in front of him with ridiculous ease and raised his weapon before he'd even seen the bigger warrior move. Second the bastard was strong. Stratus was no pushover himself, that had long since been beaten out of him by the stronger fishman, but this guy was different. He didn't strike with the restraint the swordsman was used to and didn't seem to follow any set pattern. The longarm tribesman was trying to crush him plain and simple. For every shallow cut he gave the man he was rewarded with a punishing blow from that wicked hammer.
Stratus knew immediately that he was in trouble.
Blow after blow was rained down upon him by that relentless weapon, Stratus backpedaled wildly, trying to find an opening in the offensive man's defense. Nothing came to him. His sword began to crack under the pressure as the sparks began to fly wildly around them. His arm shuddered and began to spasm with each attempt to keep his guard in place. The sound's of a blacksmith's forge rang loudly around them, except Tor'yyg wasn't working them metal into a specific shape. Each strike was precise and with increasing ferocity.
"Your blade will break soon," Tor'yyg informed him grimly.
Stratus couldn't muster the strength to reply, much less disagree.
The next few moments seemed to pass at a quarter of their usual speed. Stratus saw the hammer fall precisely on the widening crack near the hilt of his sword and pass right through. Every hope and dream he had seemed to evaporate before his eyes as the flat of the weapon raced toward his head. He saw a false god laughing at him and the grief of a wise old man. The smiling face of his longtime friend and partner, the fishman whom he admired and respected, and the captain that changed his world forever.
His eyes widened in denial, he couldn't die here, not with so much left to do.
"RANKYAKU!" someone screamed.
Something sliced past his face and slammed into the hammer with a deafening screech. Tor'yyg's hammer missed Stratus's shoulder by mere inches and buried itself all the way up to the shaft in the bricks of the street.
Stratus feel to his knees, utterly spent, and breathed a silent prayer of thanks to that wizened old fool as he passed out.
(:::::)
Tor'yyg turned, ripping his hammer out of the ground in one fluid motion, to face the newcomer.
He was a finely dressed man in wearing black pinstriped pants and black boots. He adjusted his light blue vest and dusted off the cuffs of his white, long sleeved shirt as he jumped down from the two story building he had been standing atop. He reached out smoothly and caught the black bowler hat before the wind could blow it away. The look in his eyes was positively murderous, as murderous as Devo's had ever been.
Tor'yyg found that he couldn't entirely suppress a shiver, but fear had never stopped him before. He brought his hammer up in a stance that could quickly attack of defend.
"Let me guess, you're this guy's master huh? Come to avenge his defeat perhaps? What good will that do? Especially if he doesn't have the strength to stand for himself? Better to leave him to live or die by his own merits rather than come to his rescue every time he stumbles," he spat, raising his hammer in defense.
"Nothing, but you do have a point there. Well at least in part," he said, much to the surprise of Tor'yyg Navoo.
"W-what?" he whirled as the man seemed to disappear, materializing right behind the chef. Tor'yyg whirled intending to knock the man aside, but he was already a dozen feet away with the unconscious swordsman in tow.
"Truth is I'm not the kind of man who coddles weakness or encourages foolishness. I let the people on my crew gain strength on their own. However," he held up a finger," If someone should happen to harm a member of my crew, I have a policy to fall upon them like the wrath of an angry god," he smiled pleasantly.
Tor'yyg readied himself for another fight, but the man stopped him short with a piercing look.
"I am merely his captain though, not his master. So, it isn't me you have to worry about."
Tor'yyg froze as he heard the soft rush of air behind him. He whirled just in time to catch the edge of a great sword on the flat of his hammer.
The shock of the blow drove him to his knees and cracked the street around them. The chef roared and tried to push back, but the fishman was stronger.
If the look in the other man's eyes had been murderous, this one's was positively battle crazed. He stared down at his prey with slitted eyes, fully in the throes of the infamous blood rage.
"No one beats on my students but me!' Frosty snarled.
The flat of another great sword slammed into his ribs before Tor'yyg had time to counter. He rolled away and came up with his hammer held high in defense, but his guard was instantly broken by the weight of of that terrible wrath. Tor'yyg was once again driven into the street, but this time with twin cuts on his shoulders to show for it.
He managed to lash out with his long arm and strike the fishman squarely in the chest, he fell back a step with a grunt, but brushed aside the hammer as if it were a mosquito.
"What are you?" Tor'yyg gasped at this stark reminder of Devo.
"Fishman Water Technique; Tsunami Striker!" was his only answer.
The seahorse fishman drew back his arms with one sword over each shoulder. The water vapor in the air condensed and surged around the sharpened metal until it sounded like the roar of a vengeful sea was at the fishman's command and he held a pair of maelstroms in his fists. He lunged forward a step and released twin rivers of slashing water like whips attached to his hands. They snaked across the distance separating the two warriors and descended upon Tor'yyg in an instant.
Far too fast for Tor'yyg to act even if he'd wanted to.
They struck with the ravenous power of starving sharks.
(:::::)
Flynn winced as the last of the raindrops from the artificial river splashed down. He hadn't seen Frosty wail on someone that hard since their time in Blacktide's crew. Flynn shook off a chill and raised his hand to get his first mate's attention.
"You alright there champ?"
The first mate didn't speak for a long moment. Instead he took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. With one fluid motion he sheathed his blades. When he turned away from the swampy scene of carnage his eyes were just beginning to expand away from the slits that indicated a fishman rage.
"I'm fine now cap'n," he said quickly walking away from the downed warrior, "but the marines will be here soon after that last attack. I'm sorry," he looked sheepish.
Flynn waved him off," I've been there before so I won't hold it against you."
"What do we do with him?" Frosty jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Flynn smiled with a wicked gleam in his eye, "You let me worry about him. Proceed as planned, but you'll have to take care of Stratus's shopping for him. Hopefully he'll be up to speed tomorrow."
"If he isn't?"
"Then we improvise."
They were gone long before the marines arrived at the scene.
Nikomu City: Business District
Tor'yyg awoke several hours later in a daze. Every part of his body throbbed or ached, sometimes both, and he had a splitting headache. Instinctively he looked to the right for Devo, for surely it was him who administered this righteous ass beating, and was surprised to find his beat up old dresser across the room. He rose, feeling the rough bandages around his chest and shoulders, and took another look around. A small lantern lit the small, but serviceable, his bed was slightly wobbly because of a broken leg, there was a sliver of light coming from under the door. He sniffed and was greeted by the slight smell of frying food, as well as the soft patter of conversation.
How in the hell did he get home?
He threw the covers off and glanced out the small window, the sun was starting to descend in the sky, so he had been out a few hours at least. He coughed and leaned against the bedpost as his wounds settled into a dull ache. He shook his head slowly, as not to jar his headache and made for he door.
All six of The Black Flag's round tables were all empty, save for one guest talking with the old couple who ran the eatery and sitting at the polished oak bar. He sat comfortably chatting and drinking from a mug full of dark liquid, the good wine, and sharing a laugh with the couple. The older man, Kano, sat beside him drinking the house grog and laughing along with the man. His wife, Kana, was pouring drinks and sharing stories of her own, mostly of her clumsy husband much to his chagrin. Kana waved him over causing the young man to turn around.
The same bastard in the pinstriped pants from the Diamond District.
"Afternoon!" he called loudly between puffs from a pleasantly fragrant cigar, "I was beginning to wonder if I would have to come back tomorrow," he grinned showing off pearly teeth.
Tor'yyg merely scowled.
Kano leaned over and spoke in a stage whisper, "Don't mind him. He's a lot more friendly than he looks. Kana nodded and drafted another glass of grog for their employee.
This did nothing to lessen his mood, but he sat down anyway. Far away from the younger man though.
"Why are you here? Where are all the customers?"
"Chased 'em off, bought the whole place out for the day," he said cheerfully.
"You can't just-" he sputtered.
"He did," Kano nodded, " heck of a lot of berries too, and here I was thinking we should close down early today," he scratched his stubbly chin.
"Like a gift he was," Kana tilted a mug back through painted lips.
Tor'yyg looked at the newcomer with trepidation," Who are you?"
"Flynn Tiberoa, Captain of the Gold Rush Pirates," he held out a hand that was left hanging, "Pleasure's all mine I'm sure..."
"A pirate?" Tor'yyg asked.
"Yup, going on eight years now."
'What are you doing in a place like Nikomu?" he all but spat the word.
"I was hoping you could tell me," Flynn countered over the rim of his glass.
Tor'yyg rose, slapping the mug out of Flynn's hand, 'Don't play games with me sea bandit!" he roared.
The captain held out a hand and snapped his fingers. Kana provided him with a drink and an apologetic shrug as he slid her a substantial amount of berries.
"You'll have to forgive him son, he's had a rough time here." Kano said.
"I can imagine..."
"No, you really can't," Tor'yyg swore.
"You're persecuted because of your race? Mistrusted? Hated? Even feared? People walk across the street to avoid you yet judge you by the lack of opportunities they themselves have denied you? Marines are hounding your every move if they aren't down right abusing your right's as a citizen? No," he said dryly and taking another swig from his fresh glass," A pirate would know nothing about that."
The chef was loathe to admit he had a point there.
'You still haven't told me what you want," he admitted with growing frustration at this off putting man," Or why you're here."
Flynn reached down beside his barstool and brought up Tor'yyg's hammer. He continued on as if he hadn't even hear the other man speak.
"Now this, is a mighty fine weapon. Especially to have held my first mate at bay for as long as it did and not have warped under the stress," he twirled the weapon easily much to Tor'yyg's surprise, a normal man shouldn't have even been able to lift it as much as it weighed.
"Give it back," he demanded and Flynn did.
"I've come to make you an offer. Long story short I want you on my crew."
The silence could be heard around the world.
Kana and Kano exchanged looks, expecting something like this to happen. When the young man had burst in with Tor'yyg over his shoulder like a child they were ready to attack him themselves. Tor'yyg was a godsend around here and they treated him as their own. When some of the other customers began laughing at Tor's fate and offering to finish the job he promptly kicked every single one of them violently out the door.
That's when they knew he was different, even before he paid them a week's worth of wages like money meant nothing to him.
Tor didn't lash out, he didn't shake his head in disbelief or laugh. What came out surprised them all.
" Why? Why me?" he spoke softly.
"Because I need someone like you with me on my crew," he said simply.
"How can I trust you?" he asked in a tone somewhere between an instinctive snarl and a genuine plea.
"You can't," Flynn replied simply, "because you don't know me and aren't sure if you want to know me. All I can ask is that you take a chance, come on an adventure with me and maybe I'll be lucky enough to call you my nakama. I'm not asking you to give your life for a stranger, or even fight though you clearly seem capable. All I'm asking for is someone to fill the position of chef on my pirate ship."
Tor'yyg looked lost for the first time since coming to this restaurant. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off when Flynn Tiberoa rose from his seat and walked toward the door.
"I'm leaving tomorrow, so think on it alright? I've got a very small window of opportunity to fit you into this outfit so take your time, but take it fast okay?" he waved as he fled out the back door.
Strange, he'd looked awfully pale...
Kano looked after him in confusion, and not a moment later the front door burst open and the sound of a dozen booted feet stomped upon the hardwood floor.
"Oh look, the marines are here," Kana explained.
A man in his mid twenties walked in amidst the sea of blue and white cloaked men. He was a head taller than the rest and wore a wide brimmed had to cover his long blonde hair. His brown eyes were set in a rugged and scowling face. Unlike the others he was dressed in a pair of blue jeans, hard soled boots, and a long brown coat. Everyone stood a little straighter as he inspected each of them in turn. His eyes lingered on Tor'yyg Navoo.
"My name is Juarez D. Black, and I'm afraid I have some questions for you about Flynn Tiberoa Mr. Navoo."
