I haven't said it, but a recent conversation has made me think I probably should point out they are not in the Grand Line. If I'm being honest, I haven't really decided which sea they're in (here's me vainly hoping Oda will give us some more information about the Whitebeard Pirates before I have to decide that), but I've discarded East Blue, because I don't think it would be considered the weakest sea if both Roger and Whitebeard came from there.

As always, beta-read by Anjelle :D

Lines on a Paper

Marco is just cleaning the desk in the room next to the bedroom when he sees it.

As a kid, he loved navigation. He didn't have much, but whenever he could, he bought or otherwise acquired books about it, and soon started drawing maps of his own. He loved it, and that love is one of the feelings that has survived the strongest throughout his time as a slave.

That is why, when he sees the rolled up map, he can't help himself. He drops the rag he has been holding in one hand and reaches out to reverently pick up the map. He doesn't know why he hasn't sought it before, it is now obvious to him that maps are a necessity on any ship, but he can't be bothered to care.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he unrolls the map on the desk and stares at it in fascination once it is spread before him.

He doesn't realize he is tracing its lines until his index finger stops on an island that he doesn't want to step foot on ever again.

A look around that point on the map makes Marco frown. There is another island what can't have been even a day away. Maybe, he guesses, it wouldn't have been a good idea to stop so close to the other island, much less so soon after everything that had happened there. Yet, looking at it, Marco starts to think. That logic may work to explain a few days of wait, but it has been nearly three weeks —twenty days, Marco is keeping count— and a quick glance around the paper shows there are at least a dozen islands they might have reached in all this time.

And yet, they haven't stopped anywhere.

Marco's frown deepens as he stares down at the map. He is no idiot, and he notices things. They ran out of perishable foods almost a week ago, and the only things they have resembling fruit are two half empty jars of jam: one of blueberries, and the other of strawberries. They have no vegetables left, they ate the last frozen peas three days ago for lunch.

Marco hadn't given much thought to it until now, because the novelty of having something to take to his mouth is still present, and the thought that people need a balanced diet hadn't even crossed his mind up until this point.

Now that he has thought of it, however, he has to wonder why, exactly, they haven't stopped anywhere to resupply. Prices have probably changed somewhat in the last few years —which reminds Marco that he will have to check on that— but, unless he is very much mistaken, the treasure the captain collected from that place should be enough to buy more food than this ship is capable of carrying.

Besides, Marco may have a reason to explain his oversight in this matter, but he can't think up of any explanation for why Newgate hasn't done anything about the situation. The captain is very perceptive, there is no way he hasn't noticed. And he is not new to living on a ship, either: Newgate has told him he was a pirate for years before he decided to start his own crew.

Maybe Marco should bring it up.

Shaking his head, Marco carefully rolls the map up again and returns it to its place. It is impossible the captain hasn't noticed they are short on supplies. There is obviously a reason for the wait. Marco won't say anything; he doesn't want to risk offending him by giving the impression that he doesn't trust his skill as a captain.

Marco bends down and picks up the fallen rag.