Shorter chapter than usual, but I got everything into it that I needed to and covered what I had planned to cover. It's still over 2,000 words, it's just not as close to 2,500 as it can possibly be this time (as the last couple chapters have been).

Word list:

Potpourri
Rocket
Stained glass
Flute
Anthology
"I'm like a new toy; I lose my novelty very quickly."
"I'm really not a cheapskate. I just don't like sharing."
"I'm a moody person. Look at me switch from joy to misery."
"Why is it that I can never find coffee in this place?"
"You have about five seconds to impress me."

Stuffs:

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Warnings: All the usual stuff, little swearing, alcohol, all that.

Quotifier Thingadoodle:
"You see, the point I'm trying to make here," he said, when the confused look on Lyon's face suggested that he might attempt to protest again, "is that planning things out never did drunk people any good, because their plans are usually just as inebriated as they are. Being that the majority of pirates are usually against the idea of sobriety, it's also a bad idea for them to make plans, or to think about the situation they're in, because then they end up being paranoid. You see?"

Lyon blinked. "Not really."

By the way, sorry if the A/N seems rather rushed (though I doubt many people read them anyway). I've got band practice in an hour (I joined band and I get to play guitar as an extracurricular activity =D) and I need to start getting ready right about now, so I'm doing this all rather quickly.


As suddenly as the fighting had been started by Lyon, it was ended by Helena. As he gaped at the scene, Lyon wondered how in the world he had ever been brave enough to cross that woman when he was young. He had surely never been on the receiving end of her devil fruit power—he would probably be a few limbs short had he ever been. Now, half of Garp's men were dead, and she had a wire wrapped round Gaston's neck as she negotiated with Garp in a calm, motherly voice. If anything, that only made things more disturbing.

"We'll agree to your terms as soon as you let me go, you bitch," Gaston shot at Helena, glancing over his shoulder at her. A warm smile crossed her features that didn't quite reach her cold eyes.

"And I'll let you go as soon as you both agree to my terms," she said pleasantly. "You won't lay a hand on my son or any of his crew, and especially not his daughter. You will take me back to Marine headquarters, I will be executed there, and you will be happy with that. I've gotten my dream. I had no intention of ever becoming pirate king—or queen, for that matter. I have the highest bounty in the world, and I've held it for years. It's time for me to step aside and give others a chance."

Garp was obviously perturbed—it had been years since so many of his own men had been killed in one fight, and the majority of them had been taken out this time by a middle-aged woman. He turned his irritated look on Helena, stepping forward onto a shard of broken stained glass that had been shattered from a window behind him. "Why the hell did I marry you, woman?"

Helena kept her smile up as she spoke. "I'm like a new toy; I lose my novelty very quickly. Look, Garp—I've already packed what little I'll need for the trip there." She indicated the bag hanging down from her shoulder. "Just agree to it. Have your bitch here"—and she gave a nod at Gaston at this, who scowled—"take the magnetic field off of my son's ship, let him leave, and I'll gladly go with you to be executed. That was part of your original negotiations. Did you honestly think I'd let you destroy this island or take my son in my place? Really, could you imagine," she continued in that same malevolently sweet voice, "what would happen to you if I came forward and told everyone that you've been helping me and half of my crew hide on a remote island in the Grand Line for all these years? If you lay one hand on my son, I'd be happy to educate the world on that little fact."

"All right, wait a minute!" They all glanced behind Helena and saw Lyon doubled over, trying to catch his breath. As soon as the situation had sunk in, he had taken off like a rocket from where he had been standing with most of his crew at a safe distance from the excessive violence. There had to be something he could say here—it seemed unnecessary that anyone should have to die. He moved forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Garp interrupted him before he started.

"Kid," he said, "you have about five seconds to impress me. I doubt you can manage it, and if you can't, you're going to have to take your pick for who you want me to take along."

Lyon flinched. "Look, why does anyone have to die?"

"Four seconds."

"It just doesn't make any sense, you're just being—"

"No one has to die, I've already given you that option. Two seconds."

"You stole one of my seconds!"

"One."

"You're not getting my daughter."

"And time's up. Then who'll it be?"

"I'm not going to be responsible for anyone else dying!" he said loudly. "If you're going to take anyone, it's going to be me, and I'm not going without a fight!"

"Your fight's already won," Helena said, looking at her son. Her face was stern, but the coldness faded from her eyes. "You have a life left to live. I've achieved everything I wanted. Don't worry about me—"

"But—!"

"Listen to me," she said over his protest. "It's not your job to worry about me, it's my job to worry about you. I'm not going to have my son executed before he's even reached thirty." Lyon looked at her for a moment, then down at his feet, keeping silent. Helena turned back to Garp. "I believe we've reached a decision." She slipped the loop of razor wire from around Gaston's neck and it retracted back into her hand. "We should head out as soon as all the bodies are cleared out."

Helena moved away from the three men towards the Marine ship, checking inside her bag as she did so to make sure she hadn't lost anything from it. There were a few books, among them a thick one that was an anthology of short stories she had read a few times; a black flute, which was her second instrument of choice, as her first choice had been stolen years ago by her son; and a small bag of rose potpourri that had lost its smell years ago, which she carried as a good luck charm. She was going to need that extra luck if her plan was going to work at all.


Lyon sat in his cabin, flipping through stations on a small radio as the ship was being prepared to leave. He had left Janx in charge of getting the preparations done and Hizashi in charge of watching Karimi for the time—she was still insisting on being the ship's head compass. Only a few members of the crew had been injured very seriously, and even they were going to pull through, according to Clara's earlier report.

Somewhere near his door, Lyon heard Janx ask, "Why is it that I can never find coffee in this place?"

It was Ren's voice that replied. "I don't know, did you blow up the coffee maker as well as the oven?"

"Hey, now, you were just in a good mood a moment ago, quit being hostile. Mood swings throw me off."

"I'm a moody person. Look at me switch from joy to misery."

"All right, no need for the sarcasm!"

"I'll stop being sarcastic as soon as you replace my oven."

"I told you, I tried! They wouldn't let me!"

"So buy one like a normal person!"

"But I'm not a normal person."

"Yes, I think we've all noticed that."

"Oh, whatever." Lyon's door opened suddenly. He looked over just as Janx, who was holding a coffee cup in his hand, was shutting it. He looked over to the desk Lyon was sitting at and asked, "I need five thousand beli."

"Nope," Lyon replied immediately. Janx frowned.

"You haven't even asked why."

"That would be because I don't particularly care why," he said in reply.

Janx scoffed, walking over to the bed and sitting on it. "Cheapskate."

"I'm really not a cheapskate. I just don't like sharing," he said, flipping through a few more radio stations. "I'[m a pirate, what else do you expect? And what station is the Marine feed?"

"Why?" Janx asked. "Expecting the old guy to go back on his word?" Lyon shrugged in a so-so sort of way. He did indeed expect it, but he wasn't going to make a huge deal out of it. He would quite like the old man to come back with his numbers so depleted; he would be a lot easier to defeat that way. "Uh… try 89.3." Lyon tried it. The cabin was suddenly filled with opera music. Lyon glared back at his first mate, who shrugged apologetically. "It's eighty-something point three, I know that."

It turned out to be 87.3, and all the good that did him was tell him that Garp had yet to report back to Marine headquarters on the situation.

"It is assumed that Garp is still negotiating with Lyon D.—" Lyon coughed loudly to drown out the sound of his given name. Janx sniggered at this, and Lyon heard it and tossed an empty rum bottle over his shoulder at him, as the radio announcer continued, "— more commonly referred to as Lyon the Hurricane. He has yet to report back to Admiral Sengoku, who is growing increasingly more impatient with the vice admiral since it had been reported that the Golden Den Den Mushi was destroyed by Zabat Janx, known by most as Whiskey Bomb Janx. Also in the last report was that Lyon has apparently been travelling with his five-year-old daughter, and that she was involved as a part of the negotiations. It is not yet known how, but Admiral Sengoku will be sure to ask exactly what is going on upon the next call he gets from Garp."

Lyon sighed irately and cut the thing off. "Piece of shit…" he grumbled.

"What, the radio or Garp?" Janx asked.

"Both of them," he said through his teeth. "And the rest of the Marines," he added. "I say just give the government to the Revolutionaries and give the oceans to the pirates. Everyone would be a hell of a lot happier."

"And public execution for all the Marines," Janx added.

"Definitely," Lyon agreed. "I don't feel like Garp's going to give up this easily. He's not going to be happy until he gets me or Karimi, maybe he won't be happy until he gets her. I don't know. Speaking in terms of blood… she is his granddaughter. He's worried. And honestly," he said, his voice growing cold, "I don't give a damn what he's worried about, he's not going to get near her unless he kills me." He looked at the radio sitting on his desk. "I'm going to have to keep checking."

Janx shook his head. "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug. "I know if I was in your situation the last thing I'd want to do is make myself more paranoid."

"And what would you do exactly?"

He shrugged again. "Find an island that remotely resembled Jaya and drink as much whiskey as possible until I forgot what I was paranoid about to begin with. Paranoia is not good for pirates. Alcohol, on the other hand, is, and one can counteract the other very well."

"It's better to be on guard—"

"No, it isn't."

"But—"

"Look," said Janx, "pirates work out of spontaneity. Following? Good," he said, just as Lyon opened his mouth to protest again. "Now, you see, if we try to prepare and think about what's going to happen, then it's all going to go horribly wrong because pirates are usually too drunk to come up with a plan that actually works. And I swear," he said, pointing at Lyon accusingly as he opened his mouth to protest again, "if you suggest sobriety as an alternative, I will hurt you." Lyon shrugged and closed his mouth. "Now, you hadn't been planning on fighting earlier today—none of us had, really. And we still ended up winning. Granted it wasn't us that did the winning, it was your old lady going kamikaze on all of them, but that worked, didn't it? You see, the point I'm trying to make here," he said, when the confused look on Lyon's face suggested that he might attempt to protest again, "is that planning things out never did drunk people any good, because their plans are usually just as inebriated as they are. Being that the majority of pirates are usually against the idea of sobriety, it's also a bad idea for them to make plans, or to think about the situation they're in, because then they end up being paranoid. You see?"

Lyon blinked. "Not really."

"And there it is!" Janx said, as though confusing his captain was exactly the point he had been trying to make. "You're currently sober and no one else is, which means we need to find somewhere with a lot of alcohol so you can be on the same page as us." He stood up and made for the door. "I'll go give the orders and see if Compass Girl can locate any islands that fit the right description."

"But I feel like I need to be thinking straight," Lyon said, still blinking in a confused manner.

Janx opened the door and looked over. "Then you're too sober for your own good." He walked out and shut it behind him. Lyon's brow furrowed. Maybe he was right. Lyon usually had absolutely no trouble understanding the logic of drunken pirates. It was sobriety that made everything so confusing.


And that's that.