Despite everything, Vinci couldn't help but smile as he walked down the gangplank. Despite the sheer, burning, aching knowledge that he'd been so wrong, that no matter their pride or their strength or their desire to be free they still knelt, that Kaneki had been right, that he would throw the entire world to the wolves to keep his crew safe, that his first friend since he'd been a small and naive child had seen to the core of him and found it callous and cold…
Despite all that, he still smiled, as he strode down the gangplank like a conqueror (not a king, never that).
Granted, a large portion of that smile was because of the endorphins he'd forcibly flooded his brain chemistry with, because he did not have the time or luxury of an emotional breakdown right now, not with how duplicitous he was going to have to be, but part of his wide smile was for another reason entirely.
Namely, two of the people in the large party assembled to greet him.
Oh, sure, there was a Rear Admiral - a pinched, thin fellow with long steel-grey hair and a couple chain-wrapped bundles of swords at his sides (and one very dangerous-looking katana on his hip that Herman probably knew the name, history, and weaknesses of like the back of his hand). There was also a painfully earnest-looking fellow with spiky black hair and a dark grey uniform that probably marked him as security for the CDRP, and a smattering of other officers and various functionaries. But they weren't important right now, because this was a family affair.
"Cousin! Uncle T!" he shouted, hugging both of them. His cousin flinched, the thin scientist's wire-frame glasses nearly slipping off his beaky nose, while T-Bone just blinked in surprise.
"Vinci," Grigori Viktor said evenly. "Why such a response?"
"What, can't I say hello to family?" Vinci asked, letting go and stepping back while grinning all the while. "How's the hand?" he asked.
When he was six, Viktor and parts of his branch of their family had visited. Viktor had called him 'an ill-bred brute with no restraint or sanity' (really, he'd been a mouthy eight-year-old) and Vinci had responded quite reasonably by nailing his hand to a desk with a scalpel. Judging from the way Viktor's eyes narrowed, he hadn't forgotten either. "Fine," the thin man answered, pushing lanky black hair out of his eyes. "I see you've made something of yourself, becoming a pirate whose amnesty depends on the World Government. How is that crew of illiterate numbskulls working out for you?"
"Quite well, actually, and they are literate, my bosun wouldn't tolerate anything less after I augmented the lot of them. Uncle T, got anything new to tell me? Your stories were always the best."
T-Bone at least had the courtesy to look awkward. As right he should. The blade at his side, the pride of the 13th Royal Fleet...he did not deserve it, not when Sakazuki still breathed. Vinci remembered the man who'd been willing to tell a small child stories of glory and righteousness...but he would not forgive or forget that those principles had been cast aside for the mockery of Justice that Akainu spouted.
The Rear Admiral cleared his throat, and Vinci spun on his heel.
"Right! You...there."
He heard Kaneki make a strangled noise back up on deck.
"My name, Warlord, is Goro Gripper, Rear Admiral of the Navy. I am the commanding officer of Port Roybal, and by extension in charge of the island of Arlen. Welcome."
"Glad to be here, Handler," Vinci replied, shaking the man's hand vigorously. "Who's the rest of your merry crew?"
One of Gripper's eyes twitched, just a little, before he stepped back. "Right. This is Akira Horus, chief of CDRP's on-base security," he said indicating the painfully-earnest man, who stepped up and shook Vinci's hand with a 100-watt grin that Vinci immediately distrusted and wanted to punch in the face.
"Pleasure to be working with you," the black-haired man said, entirely genuinely.
"Same to you," Vinci replied, trying to figure out where the barbs were and failing miserably. Huh. Someone actually decent in a position of power. Who knew that was a thing?
"Dr. Josef here heads the prevention half of the Center," Horus continued, indicating a small, weaselly man with slicked-back black hair in a lab coat. "And...well, I'd introduce you to Dr. Grigori, but...you seem to know each other pretty well. Captain T-Bone's providing supplemental security, as well."
"And you all made time to see me?" Vinci queried. "I didn't think I rated this kind of welcome."
Viktor looked like he wanted to say something cutting, but T-Bone put a hand on his shoulder before he could loosen his tongue (and then lose it).
Rear Admiral Gripper, on the other hand, had a perfectly neutral expression and eyes filled with murder, and it told in every word that came out of his mouth. "We believed that you wanted to get right to work. You told your escorts as much, anyway."
Vinci shrugged. "True, but I'm going to see to my crew, first."
"And the others under your command?"
Vinci smiled. A blunt probe. "Oh, they're about. Set them to getting stronger, hunting down pirates, you know, what Warlords are supposed to do. Oh, did you know that I can actually create a legal mercenary network and apply my Warlord pardon to everyone who joins it? Because that was really interesting to find out."
"I...see. Very well, I can - what is he doing?"
Vinci turned. Kaneki was striding down the gangplank, a pair of bodies held in his tendrils. One was a very rumpled-looking C, while the other was Six. Unusual, that, since Six appeared to be humming contentedly, whereas last time Vinci had touched him (routine medical examination, nothing worse than a bit of prodding) every muscle in the man's body had locked up and he'd acted like a scalded cat for hours afterward. The Oni flanked Kaneki on both sides, breath steaming in the cold air and irises glowing red.
"I," Kaneki announced flatly. "Am going to get some warm fucking clothes. Where the hell's the nearest shop?"
"Head down main street, take a left at the statue of the knight punching a giant in the crotch, it's the third building down," Horus provided helpfully.
The ghoul paused for a moment, then inclined his head. "My thanks." He leapt off the gangplank and over the heads of the crowd, and took off running.
Vinci cocked his head. "So, yeah, that was my first mate. Now, take me to your laboratories, I intend to do science to them."
Ah, thrift shopping. It never, despite Dui's increasingly ruffled feathers about the quality of the place, disappoints.
I pity Vinci, really. Dealing with an evil (well, more evil) cousin, a stick-up-the-ass Marine captain, another guy who is probably compensating for something via sheer quantity of swords, and what I was pretty sure was Josef fucking Mengele in a World Government uniform can't be fun, but hey, he signed up for it. At least that guy in charge of security seemed nice...ish. Didn't really have a chance to read his heartbeat, but the man practically exuded honesty, goodness, democracy and apple pie and all that jazz. On second thought, democracy in the World Government? Maybe I should check if he's a Revolutionary spy; Dragon has to have someone watching this place, right? Eh, his directions were good either way.
"Hey, C, budge over," Percy growls.
"There's a heater here. You will die before I move."
"Isn't the expression one used with 'I'?" Dui asked idly, a wineglass in hand - no I don't know where he got the wine, though I'm pretty sure the man has at least three bottles tucked away somewhere under that spiffy waistcoat.
"No," C says mulishly as he remains stubbornly ensconced right next to the store's radiator - he really isn't taking severe cold well, and Arlen makes the Archipelago look like Alabasta. "Not this time."
"Okay, fine, take up aisle space," the prizefighter says, raising his hands in surrender.
I snort, and continue sorting through the racks of coats. Already gotten my hands on some long pants - ones that, for whatever reason, some previous owner has added mounts for armor plating onto, the steel plates at shin and thigh and knee nearly obscuring the winter camouflage the pants are actually patterned on.
Most of the stuff here is winter jackets and coats, pretty boring in general. Not an ounce of style, and most of it is a little too beat-up anyway for my purposes. Something with flair would be…
I pause, and shift a couple of peacoats out of the way, before pulling out the long white coat that's caught my eye. "Hey, Chandos, come over here for a second."
"Sure," the mustached Oni drawls, head popping up from what I'm charitably terming 'Hawaiian shirt hell' (why the hell does a Winter Island have such a vast selection of Hawaiian shirts?). "What's up?"
I hold the coat up, and the ex-Marine glares at it. I grin. "Look familiar?"
"Looks like someone added some fur lining, but yeah, that's a Marine captain's coat. How is that even…"
"Thrift stores, man. Someone took the insignia off the back, though. Well, that works even better, actually."
"Oh, god, what are you planning…"
"Hey, Six!"
"Yes?" the cook asks as his head pops out of the blanket burrow he's ensconced himself in.
"How good are you at art on cloth? Tailor guy's already drowning in making new clothing for all the Wolves so they have something to wear off-duty, don't want to trouble him, and we're eating off the government's dime for the next few weeks."
He considers for a moment. "I am passable at it. What do you require?"
"Need someone to paint the kanji for 'retribution' on the back of this," I say, hefting the coat. "I'd do it myself, but I'm still shit at writing out that formal stuff."
The blue-haired man nods carefully. "I see. Does anyone know where to get fabric paint?"
"Here!" Tina trills helpfully, the tall woman holding up a couple buckets.
"Is the owner going to let us…" I stop, and glance at said store owner, who remains asleep behind the counter with a porn magazine draped on his face. He might actually be dead, I don't care enough to check. "Yeah, okay, that was a stupid question, paint away."
Of course you would set out to tweak the noses of those who are currently hosting you, brat, the dragon murmurs in my ear.
Yeah, yeah. Hell, it's the Marines, I of all people can claim moral superiority to their organization, a bit of directed insolence isn't going to tip the scale.
Buzzing, churning motion just out of sight, before it fades.
Hrmph. You are not incorrect in this statement.
Love you too, scaley.
I toss Six the coat. "Get to work whenever you feel like, I'm going to see if I can find a bunch of shirts with rude slogans on them."
"So, we're just giving the inner fifteen-year-old free reign, then," Dui remarks with a smirk.
I, very maturely, stick out my tongue at him and throw a particularly ratty shirt at his head. The man sputters as he tries and fails miserably to rid himself of the thing.
Half an hour, several new articles of clothing, and one rather irate Oni being forced to wear a bright pink shirt with sequins later (seriously, you'd think Pamca would've learned not to bet against Eka on anything, Eka cheats), we're on the rooftops, leaving the thrift store and the still-asleep-or-dead owner behind, more or less intact (Percy tried to welch on the bill, because of said owner, so we'd compromised and given him the money, but filled the entire space behind the counter with birdseed. Because some people had the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old, Tina.)
My new coat doesn't slow me down, despite my assumption that I'd have to deal with increased air resistance. It does, however, look demonstrably awesome.
You are so childish.
Buddy, for once in my life my only responsibilities are to kick back for a few weeks and let Vinci worry about everything, while passive-aggressively screwing with as many Marines as possible. This is freaking heaven.
Oh, so spite. I should remember that.
Another flicker, this one almost like a...running shape? I dismiss it, glance at the docks, and stop dead, everyone else falling in beside me. Even Six, who's keeping up admirably, but looks about ready to drop. I sneak a tendril from under my new coat and wrap it around him to steady him as I look at the newly-arrive Marine vessel. It's a bit smaller than Ends Justified, a light rather than a heavy frigate, not really something suited for the Grand Line...but my vision's good enough to make out two of the people disembarking from it.
Grey hair, grey jacket, white smoke trailing behind him.
Glasses, bob cut, sword at her hip.
"Jesus Christ what the hell is that noise?" Eka asks as what sounds like half the canine population of Port Roybal starts barking.
"Brother, please stop," C asks, and I halt, coughing.
"Sorry," I say, a little sheepishly. "Gentlemen, see that fellow down there with the jutte and the expression like someone pissed in his Cheerios?"
"Yeah, we can, is there a point?" Dui asks.
"I give you the rarest of sightings, gentlemen: a Marine with basic common fucking decency."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. That's Commodore Smoker. Girl at his side's Ensign Tashigi."
"Heard about them. Didn't they break up the whole thing at Alabasta, and take out Crocodile?" Eka muses.
"Nah, Straw Hat Luffy actually did the groundwork on that, Marines took the credit. Have it on good authority Smoker was pissed about that, though, so another point to him."
"Is that respect I hear, Boss?" Percy asks. "For a Marine? We sure the paint fumes didn't get to you?"
"I'm allowed to have my favorites," I muse, as the duo below us split up. "Hey, Pamca, didn't you say Herman went off to...where was it again?"
"The Street of Steel," the albino answers, folding his massive arms. "Said he wanted to get some smith work in, fool around a little. Why?"
"Well, just considering the repercussions of a girl who practically worships Graded swords running into a man who despises swordsmanship and melted one down to make his armor," I say, pointing at Tashigi as she hurries along.
"Okay, so day one and we've already gotten into a brawl with the Marines, and lost half the town because Doggo Supreme and restraint in a fight are alien to one another, got it," Tina says lightly, balancing her longaxe across her shoulders. "Got a plan?"
"How 'bout you guys keep an eye on Smoker, C, Six, you're with me, we'll make sure Tashigi doesn't poke the dog-bear too much," I say. C and the Oni nod, and Six makes some odd humming noise that I choose to take as agreement. Really need to make sure he's okay with the cold, he refused everything at the store beyond a pair of sweatpants he's currently wearing under the cargo shorts.
Right. Time to prevent disaster.
Smoker stalked through the halls of Port Roybal Marine Base as grumpily as a human being could. First on the lists of reasons for his increasingly short temper was, naturally, the obvious fact that Navy HQ had lost their god-damned minds. Second was the fact that someone or something had been following him the entire way up to the Base proper. The pressure of watching eyes had only abated once he'd gotten within the white walls. Third, pretty much permanently at this point (dethroning after ten years in the service the consistent aggravation of constantly lowered training standards saddling him with nearly-incompetent recruits) was the lingering irritation that was the existence of Straw Hat Luffy and how the brat had had the audacity to not be a complete scumbag like every other pirate on the seas while still putting himself in a position where Smoker was compelled by honor and pride to arrest him anyway.
He couldn't believe he was thinking this, but he'd honestly prefer it if the brat had gotten the Warlord spot instead of Grigori. The brat at least had basic functioning morals and lacked a rap sheet filled with such things as 'caused a volcanic eruption that destroyed an entire island', 'slaughtered his way across said island beforehand', 'enlisted the services of a cannibalistic monster as a first mate', and what could only be summarized as 'Jesus Christ what the hell is wrong with you'.
His knock on the door to Rear Admiral Gripper's office left dents in the wood, and he wasn't sorry in the slightest.
"Come in," the Rear Admiral said in a slightly strained voice, and Smoker entered, instantly realizing something was wrong - the Rear Admiral had a look in his eyes that Smoker had only seen before in people who survived 24-hour artillery bombardments.
"Commodore Smoker, reporting as ordered, sir," he said anyway.
"You're early," Gripper noted, voice still strained. "Please, sit."
Smoker took a seat, as Gripper, with a shaking hand, poured three fingers of whiskey into a crystal decanter and threw the thing back in one gulp. "I understand," the Rear Admiral said, in a much more normal tone of voice than before, "that you will have numerous objections to Grigori Vinci's...existence. As a Warlord, and as a person. I was expecting you to bring it up at the first opportunity, and I wish to forestall you. Making Grigori a Warlord, and the Only Alive addition to his first mate's bounty, are both decisions I disagree with, for obvious reasons."
"Did Sengoku finally go senile, then?" Smoker asked.
"The orders I was given, to make the offer and to acknowledge the Only Alive bounty, came direct from the Elder Stars themselves," Gripper said, voice shaking a little again. "I instructed Commodore Morumoto to phrase his offer in such a way it would nearly guarantee Grigori refused, and could then be brought down by our guns. And yet he accepted anyway." He took a deep breath. "I have just spent several hours in close company with the human equivalent of a rabid wolf, Commodore Smoker. Rest assured, I share your grievances with the decisions of Navy Headquarters."
Well, that was him told, Smoker thought numbly. "So now what?" he asked.
"Base security up at the Center has told me they will let Grigori play with his toys, provided he doesn't do anything dangerous. He's expressed interest in sharing his...research, and after some vetting I think we might see genuinely useful results from sane scientists. As for us...I've had men keeping an eye on his crew from the moment they've stepped on shore. The Butcher Bird, of all people, has demonstrated respect for you. Quite vigorously. And unusually. He has a particular hatred for the Marines in general. If he approaches you...try not to reject him."
"You want me to wring him for as much information as possible, and try to figure out why the hell Grigori accepted the Warlord position and what the madman's planning," Smoker said bluntly.
"Exactly," the grey-haired Rear Admiral said.
Smoker let out a breath. "Fine. I don't like it, but it's better than letting the Butcher Bird wander around town unimpeded."
"Thank you, Commodore."
"And what about my men?"
"The next aid train to Emory is in three weeks. Your soldiers will be barracked here. Also, in accordance with your promotion, you'll be given command of a battleship, and additional men are yours to recruit as you see fit."
"Loguetown doesn't have the docks to support such a vessel," Smoker noted. "I assume that means I've been officially reassigned to the Grand Line?"
"Paperwork takes time to catch up, I suppose, but yes. Last I heard, they'd placed a Captain by the name of Geretsu there to replace you."
That stung, a little, but Smoker supposed leaving like he had had to have consequences. "I'll see to recruiting, then. And I'll let you know if the Butcher Bird calls."
"Very well. I look forward to -"
The door to Gripper's office slammed open, and a panicked-looking Seaman First Class Odoroki - one of his men - stumbled in. "Commodore! Ensign Tashigi's in trouble! We need your help, this is way too much for us!"
Oh, hell, what had that girl gotten herself into now? She'd just gone to get Shigure inspected, surely that couldn't have caused a blood feud or dramatic swordsman's duel!