And now, exactly one year from the publication of the first chapter, here they are, the Black Glove Pirates!
"A miniature blade…" Tink. "Two weighted knives…" Clack clack. "A sniper rifle…" THWUMP. "Two pistols…" Thud thud. "Two more pistols…" Virtually no noise. "Two more knives…" Clink clink.
"Want me to strip naked as well?" Cassandra snapped bad-temperedly. To say that she was not in a very good mood would be like saying that Alexander was a mediocre instrumentalist. She had met with her father, been arrested, and lost her great-grandfather's weapons, which she had had in her possession for less than an hour or three. To top it all off, she was covered in mud from a little navigator-caused incident on the way to the prison.
"Mate, when Captain says to stop fighting, she means it," Alexander sighed, also coated in mud.
Damien shrugged indifferently. Around halfway through the trip, he had suddenly tried to free himself, sending the guards leading him flying and knocking Cassandra and Alexander over. It had taken the combined efforts of the pirate captain, the musician, and the bodies of over a hundred of the Imperial Guard to calm him down. It took another fifteen minutes or so to convince him to actually walk to the prison instead of digging his heels in. "Fuckers deserved it. Ain' nobody should be chained."
"You still could have cooperated."
Blocking out her two crewmembers' chatter, Cassandra was ushered through a barred door and down a long hallway. Sunlight filtered in through the barred windows, mocking her with freedom. Her hands and feet were locked in simple iron manacles, severely hindering her movement. She had to keep a firm hold on her emotions. If she wanted to make an escape, she would have to formulate a plan. To formulate a plan, she would have to keep a cool head.
"Why th' fuck can' I jus' bust us outta 'ere?"
"We are restrained! See this? This is seastone. Nothing in the world can break it, mate, not even you. Just shut up and deal with it."
In a way, she was oddly glad that she was being kept on opposite ends of the prison as her crewmembers. She let herself smirk a little at this absurd thought. Apparently, she still had a ways to go if she was going to be a pirate captain. After all, what kind of captain willingly abandoned her crew? She shook her head as she was led through the massive doorway and into the belly of the prison.
As far as prisons went, this one was fairly hospitable. The mud brown bricks were relatively clean, the sun shone through the countless windows, and the air was cool and dry. There were no rat feces visible, though this didn't necessarily mean that there were no rats. But the lack of cobwebs was noticeable and meant that either the prison had a really good custodial crew or that there were no spiders at all on Spring Isle. Somehow, she believed the former to be the more likely option.
Nevertheless, she was in a prison and it did have its downsides. Every corridor had at least one Imperial Guard watching over it at all times, making the possibility for escaping undetected virtually zero. No matter where she turned, there was always a white-cloaked man or woman casually strolling about the prison. The guards looked none too happy to be in the prison, casting dark glances at the prisoners every now and then. Most of the prisoners were casting dark glances at each other, obviously mistrustful of other criminals. The prisoners around her didn't even look all that threatening. They were kept behind simple iron bars in relatively comfortable cells, which was probably why there were so many guards. Iron couldn't always contain a particularly powerful prisoner, after all.
However, all of these drawbacks paled in comparison to her prisoner's identification. She had not been allowed to keep all of her clothes and was clad in a drab jumpsuit. Large steel rings had been pushed through her lower lip, ear, and nose. They were not going to be removed easily without being detected.
Her musings were cut short as the guards pushed the doors open and a cocktail of unpleasant odors assaulted her nose. Gagging, she dampened her senses and turned to the guards questioningly. Much to her confusion, the guards looked just as disgusted as she did. "I have never seen that particular kind of food before," the Imperial Guard on her right gasped, pinching his nose between his fingers. "What on earth is it?"
"Is this edible?" Cassandra asked, eyeing the bubbling blue goop behind the counter.
"No idea," the man said before swiftly exiting the room. The other guard unlocked her shackles and escaped as well, slamming the door shut behind him.
Cassandra sighed and turned back to the rest of the room. Tables and benches were stretched from wall-to-wall and the prisoners were eating as if the blue substance were their last meal. Internally wincing at the poor choice of words, she grudgingly went over to the counter, grabbing a tray and a bowl as she passed. The man serving the food grunted, dropping a ladle full of blue into her bowl. Cassandra sighed and went on, taking some utensils and a glass of water. She paused, then took a few more glasses of water, for if the food tasted as bad as it smelled, she would undoubtedly need to wash the taste from her mouth. She meandered over to the nearest table and sat down, dreading the meal to come. Shaking her head, she picked up her spoon and began to dip it in her bowl.
"What do you think you're doing?" a voice came from behind her.
"Trying not to vomit," Cassandra replied without turning around, "and praying that this is at least vaguely nutritional."
She was suddenly jerked around, almost knocking her so-called 'food' to the floor. A large woman, flanked by around five equally large women and men, was glaring down at her. She was a head or so taller than Cassandra was, though easily thrice as wide. The way she cracked her knuckles indicated that she meant business and that Cassandra was her target. "What are you doing at our table?"
From here, there were two options. She could either get up and leave to try to avoid conflict, or she could stand her ground and wind up fighting. "I was about to eat, but now I'm staring up at you."
"All right, smart ass," the woman snarled. "There are two rules and two rules only at Spring Isle Penitentiary: don't try to escape and don't kill any guards. They don't give a rat's ass about fighting between prisoners. Hell, they're happier if we kill each other off. It means less scum they have to deal with. In other words, we can do whatever we want."
"Well, I want you to leave me alone," Cassandra said idly, knowing that her words would have the opposite effect. "Can you do that?"
The woman grabbed her shirt and lifted her into the air, staring furiously at the pirate captain. "Are you trying to get-"
Her statement was cut off as a brightly colored something plowed into her side, forcing her to drop Cassandra. The assailant stood up and dusted off her hands, staring down in satisfaction. "Touch Captain again. I dare you."
"Lyn?" Cassandra gasped, genuinely shocked. "What are you doing here?"
Lyn reached back and placed her hand on Cassandra's forehead, closing her eyes in concentration. Cassandra felt a slight headache coming on and focused on it. After a second or so, the first mate's memory flashed into her mind's eye, blocking out her normal vision.
Lyn had just finished putting the finishing touches on her painting and was admiring it proudly when a gently falling slip of paper caught her eye. Easily catching it out of midair, she brought it up to her face and read the neatly-written message aloud. "'Cassandra is in prison. Get yourself arrested and help her.' Huh."
She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, smearing blue and yellow all over her skin. There was only one person she knew of who would leave her such a message… The question was: should she get herself arrested? She glanced at her finished painting, then at the carefully-set tripwire, then at the message again. "Okay."
Cassandra blinked as Lyn withdrew her hand. "That's it? That's why you got arrested?"
"A little faith can go a long way, Captain," Lyn said cheerfully, standing back-to-back with Cassandra. "Now, I believe we have a fight to fight?"
Indeed, the downed woman was pushing herself to her feet, a livid expression stamped on her face. "Us six against you two! This is going to be quick!"
\\'/.\\'/.\\'/.\\'/.\\
In the lower cafeteria, reserved for more dangerous criminals, it was surprisingly peaceful.
Alexander had walked in with every intention of relaxing on a bench and eating his food. He knew about his captain's intelligence, so he wasn't worried. She would get them out of prison and on their way soon enough. Meanwhile, he just had to cooperate and wait until that time. Yes, he had every intention of enjoying a simple meal.
Unfortunately for him, he had to waste his energy explaining to Damien why provoking the entire cafeteria into attacking him was a bad idea.
Damien had walked in with every intention of calling the prisoners 'ass-fuckin' cocksuckin' fag-bitches'. He loved any sort of physical conflict, especially since he was really good at finishing it quickly and brutally. He hated being captured and was a ticking bomb just begging to be set off. Yes, he had every intention of getting into a fight.
Fortunately for everybody else, he was goaded into simply getting food and standing near a table, for the benches would surely collapse under his weight.
"And what exactly is this supposed to be?" Alexander asked aloud. The alchemist was sitting up straight, wishing that he could turn whatever this 'food' was into something delicious using his Devil Fruit powers. The seastone bracelets still encircled his wrists, thus preventing him from using his alchemy.
"Horse jizz," Damien responded, idly picking at something stuck underneath a talon.
"Don't heat it up," Alexander warned, trying his best not to taste the blue goop. "Remember, they think your flames are Devil Fruit powers. We have a tactical advantage if we only use it when we try to escape."
Damien glanced down at his own bracelets, evidently displeased. "Tactic'l advantage c'n kiss my-"
"Do you mind if I sit here?" a voice interrupted.
"Fuck off," Damien shot back, throwing his head back and pouring the blue glop down his throat.
Alexander sighed and nodded his head. "Don't mind him. My name is Alexander-"
"This stuff don' taste 'alf bad," Damien cut in, crushing the bowl in his fist. "Could use some meat."
Laughing lightly, the prisoner sat down across from Alexander and put his tray on the table. His body was built like Damien's, lean and muscular. He was clad in a sleeveless white robe, exposing his sinewy arms. Somehow, Alexander could detect the unbelievable power surrounding the man. It was as if the bald prisoner could control the very air around him. "I am Apprentice Nikasen. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Damien," the navigator growled. "Ye look strong."
Nikasen gave a small nod. "Thank you, my friend. I have practiced for many years on an island in the Grand Line under the finest master a man could ask for."
"The Grand Line?" Alexander asked in surprise. "What is a man from the Grand Line doing in a prison in West Blue?"
"Part of our training is to see the world past what we have been taught," Nikasen responded. "By experiencing a variety of different situations, such as living in a prison, one can learn to adapt more quickly to others."
Alexander nodded, noting out of the corner of his eye that Damien was wandering towards a large group of dangerous-looking men. "And you're a good fighter?"
Nikasen smiled. "But of course. I trained under Master Mace Silurian, one of the most powerful fighters in the world. His strength far surpasses that of most humans and he is nearly impossible to wound. Nobody has been able to knock him down, though countless challengers have appeared."
Sounds like a perfect person for Damien to meet. "What do you mean, humans?"
"He is a fishman," Nikasen replied simply, not even flinching as a man flew by his head.
"Is that so? What kind?"
"A fossilfish fishman, he said."
"Fossilfish?" That sounded strange. "What do you mean?"
Nikasen smile diminished slightly. "He did not tell us any more. Why are you so interested?"
Alexander gave a light chuckle, lifting his bowl up as another man slid screaming down the table. "If Damien ever met this fishman of which you speak, even I don't know what would happen. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object…"
"Damien is a formidable fighter," Nikasen stated, turning to watch the brutal brawl. "I would hate to confront him."
"I'm curious," Alexander began, finishing off his 'food.' "What do you think makes him such a good fighter?"
"At a glance?" Nikasen stared analytically at the navigator. "He is fully immersed in the fight. I would bet that nothing can distract him, no matter how hard one tried. If it were anybody else, I would say that his form is sloppy and contains a lot of wasted moves. But, unless I am mistaken, he weighs a considerable amount and he uses his momentum to power his following attacks."
"You can tell all of that just by looking at him for a few seconds?" Alexander asked skeptically.
The apprentice shrugged. "One must be able to judge an opponent in a second if one hopes to win the battle."
Alexander opened his mouth to protest, but closed it as he thought of his previous fights. While the other pirates had emerged victorious, he had been the one to end up tying his end of the Pirate's Wager. Jones had misjudged him; of that, he was sure. But he in turn had misjudged Jones. He sighed as he realized the truth in Nikasen's words. "Okay, fine. But he has taken on hundreds of men at once. Why does he not get killed then?"
"You are asking a lot of negative questions about your friend," Nikasen observed. "Why are you so curious about him and his survival?"
Alexander could think of nothing to say to that. How was he supposed to explain that he considered Damien a brother, but sometimes questioned Damien's sanity; that despite all his reassuring words, he was uncertain that Damien wouldn't rend Captain limb from limb when he was beyond reason; that he sometimes wondered how the navigator managed to survive in spite of his grievous wounds, wounds that would have killed any normal man ten times over?
"I'll answer this last one," Nikasen murmured. "Then we'll focus more on you. What you may not realize is that no matter how many enemies there are, only about six unarmed men can hope to attack you at once. With swords, no more than five can attack without the danger of impaling a comrade by mistake."
"I never thought of it that way," Alexander commented, ducking under a heavily bleeding man.
"Now you don't seem like a hand-to-hand fighter," Nikasen said. "A gunner, perhaps?"
"Devil Fruit user," Alexander corrected. "And I can enhance soundwaves that I produce into damaging blasts."
"Impressive! Can you use your voice or the snap of your fingers?"
Alexander shook his head. "Those sounds are not nearly strong enough for my purposes. But what about you? What do you use?"
"I'll show you," Nikasen said, getting up and casually strolling towards the mob of fighters surrounding Damien. He rolled his shoulders and took a calming breath, evidently preparing himself for his demonstration. He bent his knees and let his hands descend to his waist, palms up. Bowing his head slightly, his inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "Taijiquan…"
He moved so quickly that Alexander almost lost sight of him. He lightly pushed a man out of his way, stood next to Damien, and attacked. It looked like he was gently moving people in a different direction ten times faster than normal. Men and women flew every which way, colliding with walls, supporting columns, and other prisoners. Damien turned to the apprentice with an angry look in his eye, obviously irritated with having his prey removed. Nikasen brought his hands to his waist once more and exhaled. "Bao Zha Pu Bu."
"The fuck was tha'?" Damien growled, clenching his hand into a fist.
"Martial arts," Nikasen answered, relaxing from his stance. "The main difference between our fighting styles."
Alexander's eyes widened and he shook his hands furiously, trying to attract the apprentice's attention. If Nikasen saw the movements, he gave no indication that he did. Damien, fortunately enough, was oblivious. "Aye? You think yer be'er than me?"
"No," Nikasen said thoughtfully. "Your lack of a consistent style makes you hard to predict. Your strength is far superior to mine and I would have a hard time fighting against you."
Damien gave his favorite grin, a carnivore's grin. "That so? Min' if I kick yer ass righ' here, righ' now?"
"Unfortunately, I have to be somewhere else," Nikasen sighed dramatically. He casually strolled towards the door, stepping over an unconscious body here and there. Damien gave a displeased growl, which was abruptly cut off as a beefy hand descended upon his shoulder. He glanced up to see a bruised inmate grinning down at him with a mouth that held far too few teeth.
After watching Damien's fist uncurl and his talons zip from his fingertips, Alexander thought it was time for his own departure. He knew what was going to happen next and didn't feel that it was necessary for him to stick around. Instead, he hustled after Nikasen, hoping to catch the apprentice before he got too far away. He exited the cafeteria and let the doors swing shut behind him, ignoring the sound of something slamming through the doors an instant later.
Much to his irritation, Nikasen walked at a brisk pace that was even faster than Alexander's jogging pace. Huffing and puffing as he ran through the hallways, he strived to catch the quick fighter. Nikasen always seemed to be turning the corner just as Alexander caught sight of him, prompting the musician to go even faster. He tried calling out the man's name, but Nikasen remained oblivious. Eventually, he was forced to slow to a steady walk, panting heavily and tugging at his collar. Accursed fighters and their never-ending endurance…
"Where are you going?" a voice asked, startling him slightly.
"I was told to go back to my cell," Alexander responded quickly, staring up into the eyes of an Imperial Guard. "I'm being held next to some punk fighter who thinks he looks tough. You know, bald, ripped his sleeves off, has that air of arrogance about him?"
"I know just the man," the guard muttered. "I don't envy you, though I thought even people like you would have remembered how to get back to your cell from here."
"It's these damn glasses," Alexander sighed, gesturing at his face. "My eyes are getting worse, but I haven't been able to get my glasses adjusted. Everything looks the same: kinda fuzzy."
The guard grunted and gestured with his spear. "Go down the hall, make a left, then take the next two rights and you'll be right where you belong."
Alexander didn't really like the sound of that last part, but he really had no other options at this point. He roughly thanked the man and proceeded down the corridor, pretending to have trouble seeing. After turning the corner, he dropped his facade and relaxed against the wall. He had to admit: it was nerve-wracking telling a lie to a man who could easily kill him without any consequences. He gave a dark chuckle at this, for he lied to Damien all the time.
He continued walking as he was instructed and, sure enough, wound up at an open cell door. Briefly checking to make sure that Nikasen was indeed in the next cell over, he walked inside and admired his surroundings. A simple cot lay against one wall and a toilet and sink against another. A small footlocker was placed underneath the bed, probably for personal belongings. As far as cells went, it looked fairly hospitable.
"Is that you, Alexander?"
The musician gave a small grin. "You didn't think you could leave me behind so easily, did you?"
He could hear a light laugh come from the adjacent cell. "I was not even aware that you were following me."
"Next time, I'll be sure to yell," Alexander shot back. He reclined upon his cot and stared at the ceiling, thinking of what to say next.
"Do they even allow prisoners to pick their own cells?" came the sudden question from the next cell.
Alexander's grin widened. "So long as I'm inside a cell, I don't think it makes much of a difference to them."
"Hey you!" a voice came from outside his cell, causing him to freeze.
Alexander slowly sat up, staring at the Imperial Guard standing not two meters away from him. He slowly held up his hands, wondering what was going on. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Your cell door isn't closed," the man grunted, gesturing at the barred door. "So close it."
"Of course. I'm sorry." Alexander hastened to close the door, practically stumbling over the corner of the footlocker. But the instant he grabbed ahold of the bars, he felt his energy seep from his limbs. What surprised him was the intense pain that shot through his arms, hurling him back onto his rear as he recoiled in shock. Nursing his aching hands, he stared up at the guard, who was chortling to himself. "What is it?"
"It looks like we've caught another DF User," the guard said. "Well, luckily this cell is made entirely of Type A seastone, artificially manufactured to make sure people like you never even think of using your powers. Now I'd like to just leave you to feel powerless like everybody else does, but it's prison regulations for me to remove those cuffs of yours, so I'm gonna need you to touch the door again."
Alexander eyed the door, not really feeling up to experiencing such pain again. That hesitancy cost him dearly. Obviously not one for being nice towards prisoners, the guard kneed him in the stomach. As the pirate doubled over in pain, the man walked behind him and kicked his backside, sending Alexander crashing face first into the seastone door.
\\'/.\\'/.\\'/.\\'/.\\
Damien was confused. On one hand, he really detested being chained like some captured beast. Nobody should be in chained. On the other hand, he was told that if he cooperated, he would be led to the one hundred nastiest, most cruel, most brutal prisoners on the island. The promise of encountering such people was too tempting for him to pass up. So, after dismembering a final prisoner using one of the benches, he was once again wrapped in seastone chains and led into the depths of the prison.
After descending far below sea level, he entered a massive cavern. A gigantic pit lay in the middle of the room, from which came a most interesting sound: utter silence. The only noise in the entire room came from the crackling torches lining the circular wall lining the high part of the room. Such silence meant that the prisoners were either sleeping or dead.
"The fuck is goin' on?" Damien grumbled, squirming restlessly in his chains.
The Imperial Guard made no sound, merely gesturing at the pit. A woman at the far end of the room pushed a big red button, closing her eyes and whispering a silent prayer. Loud mechanical sounds issued forth, breaking the brittle silence. Damien glanced around, trying to figure out what was going on. He got his answer soon enough.
The hundred prisoners rose into the light as the floor of the pit grew level with the floor of the room, stopping just short of the enormous stalactites hanging above them. They all stared at Damien with sunken, angry eyes, as if he were the cause of their misery. Feeling something sharp poke him in the back, he began to stump towards them, letting his weight shake the chains connecting the prisoners to each other. He stopped just inside the circle that denoted the floor of the pit, idly wondering what would happen next.
As if to answer his question, the nearest guard rushed forward and undid his chains, swiftly locking his legs in with the rest of the prisoners. The floor began to descend once more, sending the prisoners into near-blackness. Damien stared around, feeling the air around him begin to grow more and more hostile. He was not really in a mood to fight. He wanted to know these men, why they were so hated, why they were so feared.
Then, he heard a distant scream. He turned his head to the ceiling, staring upwards intently. He loved screams like that. He wanted more.
Whatever restraint he had on his need to slaughter evaporated. His head snapped back down, and he gave a wild grin. He flicked out all fifteen of his functioning claws and erupted into flame. Fuck tactical advantage. "Curse th' day ye were born, ya inbred shit'eads, and wish fer th' quick death ye'll never get! Diavolo Toro!"
I might be able to get another chapter up relatively quickly, so keep your eyes peeled.