Dear Luffy,

Listen, asshole: this is for your birthday. That means NO OPENING UNTIL MAY 5th. If you're still reading this, CLOSE THE GODDAMN LETTER AND STEP AWAY FROM THE PACKAGE. Unless it is already your birthday. Then you can totally do whatever the hell you want.

WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STILL READING THIS WHEN IT'S NOT YOUR BIRTHDAY?

Okay. I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that it is NOW your birthday. I know you can't follow directions worth shit, but here's hoping. Just so you know, it's going to completely ruin the surprise if you read this before opening your present. Just thought you should know. It seems like the kind of thing you'd be concerned about.

Things have been… well, less than smooth. I mean, the first several months went fantastically well. I even got to sit down and talk with Shanks. The guy is cool. I see why you like him. He's doing damn well for himself, left arm or no. I'm not going to spoil the surprise on THAT front any more than I already have. After that, though… well, I hit sort of a snag.

Don't worry, though! I'm still going strong! There's no way in hell I'd just give up; you know me. This guy's really strong, but I'll get what I'm after in the end. His crew is letting me stay with them and they're actually kind of cool. All things considered, it could be way worse.

On to the subject at hand. Holy shit, you're old! Fifteen is getting damn near creaky. It won't be too long before you're setting out yourself. It's kind of creeping me out as I'm writing this. I don't want my midget of a brother getting older! I like being able to lord my extra years and height over you, and if you get another goddamn growth spurt I'm going to be short in comparison, and if that happened, I'd want to cut somebody. Still, being alive for all that time is a hell of an accomplishment, so happy birthday! I got you something in a port town I visited recently. I know you have this freakish fascination with red shirts, but knowing your talent for getting into fights, I expect you'll need a new one some time in the near future. So, I picked you up this little jacket thing. Somebody on the ship told me it was called a cardigan, but if you ask me, that's a pansy-ass name. It's a jacket. I'm leaving it at that. I don't know why I'm feeding your red fetish, but there you are. It's not much, but when I saw it, I thought of you right away, and, well… There's not much out here I think you'd like. Except the food. Shame I can't send it via mail. Mail takes for-fucking-ever to get out of the Grand Line, so if I sent you something edible, it would be damn near radioactive by the time you got it. Well, in a few years, you'll be able to feast on it yourself. Maybe we can sit down to a mile-long table where you can't see the wood for all the plates someday. I don't think we'd ever leave, do you?

But I guess I should tell you about some of the guys I met aboard the ship I'm currently… Well, I guess I'm sort of a freeloader. Anyway, these guys ended up my sort-of kind-of friends.

There's Marco, first off. He's blond and starting to go a little bald, but I'm told you should never mention it to him unless you want to lose a body part. They were non-specific as to which. He's got powers like you, and can transform into a phoenix – er, he's a fiery bird that can't be killed. It's pretty fucking awesome. Anyway, he's straight-laced and only occasionally sarcastic, and while I would normally think that sounds boring, he's got to be one of the best-natured guys around. He takes me seriously when so few do these days. He liked me first, I think. I was nothing but a complete ass to him and he still did some nice stuff for me. Next to you, he's right up there on the list of guys with the patience of saints, which isn't to say he's not a hardass when he needs to be.

Then there's Thatch. Oh, Thatch. How does one describe Thatch? He's damn tall. Red hair that makes him even taller. That's right; he's a ginger. He doesn't have any powers, but then again, the man doesn't need them. He's nice in the way that you are: it's like he doesn't understand how not to be nice. It makes no sense to him how that is physically possible. He also makes jokes about EVERYTHING. You think you're having a serious conversation, and then – BAM! – he'll make a bad pun or a sex joke and the whole thing is just shot to hell. In that, he's sort of like Marco's opposite. I have trouble telling whether they get along well or not. They can carry a conversation, and often do, but it usually involves threats of bodily harm. And Thatch seems to like practical jokes. Especially when he gets to pull them on Marco. I try to be out of range when they break out in a fight, but it doesn't always work out that way. Thank God flames and knives can't hurt me in the slightest.

I do occasionally get hurt, just because I'm a huge dumbass. The medics on this ship are pretty okay. There's a girl and a guy, and I think the guy's name is Josh or something, but yeah. They patch me up when I'm fucked up. They also hand me meds if I drink or eat too much. Or they'll resuscitate me if I manage to fall asleep in my food and suffocate. That happens a little too often for my liking. I ran out of my narcolepsy medication and now, shit like this keeps happening. Well, I haven't died yet. There's a plus.

I want to hear how you've been doing, but since I'm on a ship, getting mail to me should be really difficult. I'm also told that if you accept mail at a particular address, it means you're living there semi-permanently, at least, and I definitely am NOT planning on staying here overly long. Soon as I get what I came for, I'm out of here. So, much as I want to hear from you, sending mail back to me might not be the best of ideas. I might never get it, you see. When I settle down properly, I'll send you the address, and then you can drown me in a sea of misspelt letters about the most trivial of shit, I don't care. I'd love to hear from you and you know it.

Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention. I didn't get sick this spring! You know how normally, when the season changes, my allergies flare up and I cough so much I lose my voice? Well, I don't have that problem at sea! I was so excited, like, you have no idea. Allergies are probably the worst thing in the whole damn world, right next to people who talk in theatre and getting an embarrassing itch as soon as you're in the company of someone important.

I'm rambling now, I confess, but I honestly am out of ideas for what to say. I guess say hi to Dadan and Sabo for me. If you hate your gift, just stuff it somewhere; I promise not to be offended in the least. People keep telling me I can't colour-coordinate, so I keep having to show them all the fucks I don't give.

I really hope you're doing well and that you aren't completely ignoring your studies, or at least I would were that hope not entirely in vain. Seriously, it does come in handy out here. Except for calculus. You never need calculus. You have my full permission to spit on calculus and curse its birth. But all that science-y shit? Yeah, you might need that. Basic math? That, too. When you get out here, I want you to be prepared like nobody's business, are we clear? Learn from my mistakes. It's better than making them yourself.

I'll see you… when I see you, I guess? Send me word, if you can, when you're out in my neck of the woods. Okay?

I love you more than the sun, the moon, the earth, the sky, and the stars.

Sincerely,

Ace


(A/N): YOU THOUGHT YOU KNEW WHAT WAS NEXT. YOU WERE WRONG.

Haha, but yeah. I still have much homework to complete, hence the shorter-than-usual chapter. I'll have something up that's a proper length soon.

This doesn't really count as a chapter. I might end up deleting it later unless general opinion asks me to do otherwise.