This chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Gerbilfriend and Black' Victor Cachat who both helped me a lot with grammar, paraphrasing, ideas and especially with their endless encouragement :D (*Ace's deep bow*)
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Warnings:
English is my fourth language. Spoilers to the latest chapters of the manga. Warning may change in the future.
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Guest's reviewers' answers (Do use a name/nickname next time):
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Guest "Another great chapter to an interesting story…..."
Thank you for your review and support:)
For now I don't have a concrete plan for Miss Bakkin , but if we learn more about her than maybe.
Thank you for pointing about Kizaru being an alias. It kinda weird when the alias is more famous than your actual name.
Hope you enjoy the new chapter! Looking forward to reading your thoughts!
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It is going to be a good day, Thatch thought, then said it out loud, as he looked over the newly painted rail of the Moby Dick.
No one answered back. His voice did not even echo. His words seemed to be swallowed by the darkness and the open sea. The sun wasn't even up yet.
He turned back, giving a wave to those in the crow's nest —–the unfortunate ones stuck with night duty—and not waiting to see if they saw his wave, headed downstairs to help with the breakfast preparation. There was a lot to do, and so little time.
Thatch tried not to let his shoulders hunch as he moved, repeating his mantra of it being a good day again and again in his mind as he took the stairs two at a time.
Izo always called him an optimistic idiot, but he strongly believed that faith could change reality. If he believed in something strongly enough, he could make it happen.
He really wholeheartedly believed that things were going back to normal, real soon.
He just wants things to be normal again, was that too much to ask?
Thatch greeted everyone in a cheery voice and a smile as he went to his designated corner in the kitchen, and began examining the contents of the boxes put there by his division: vegetables, fruits, meat, spices, herbs and of course flour, sugar, butter and eggs. Most importantly, someone had already taken care to light up the oven, he added pieces of wood to keep it going, and closed the door. It was burning hot.
Thatch rolled up his sleeves, while whistling a familiar tone, put on his favorite apron —it had their insignia on it— and began to knead the butter into the flour. He enjoyed working on the newly installed marble counter. It has a smooth, cool feel to it. And as always, vigorous kneading helped his agitation dissipate bit by bit. He dumped the ball of dough into a clean bowl, covered it with a plate, and set it aside to rise, and begin all over again. He had done this thousands of times, to the point it had become second nature to him, leaving his mind free to wander.
Things had changed with the Whitebeard Pirates.
It seemed as if for the past few months, he was stuck in some kind of trance, unconscious of the tiny changes that were only now evident with the benefit of hindsight.
He couldn't even point out when it has started. Maybe because at the beginning, at least, they were all minor changes that gradually occurred, never disturbing the ship's daily rhythm. At first, they were so slight that no one noticed them, and by the time someone pointed some of them out, they had already become part of the routine, so that everyone in earshot would shrug and return to their job, unruffled by such minor detail.
But the accumulated subtle changes often have large effects. Those large effects could clearly be seen now with how the management of the ship and the Commanders handling of each division had changed.
No one seemed particularly upset about it. Most openly praised it, saying it was about time some of these changes were made.
Except him.
Stuff that never used to matter—crap he never even noticed—suddenly became important.
"Which is weird", Izo had told him. "You should be the carefree idiot that didn't notice the huge elephant in the room, even if it had your beloved pompadour hairstyle on its head, in neon pink." (In his opinion, the elephant would rock the pompadour hairstyle! Everyone could! You should try it!)
Izo told him bluntly to get used to this new normal, and Thatch knew he had no choice except to deal with it.
It was the new reality of each new day.
Thus, Thach continued with his routine in a smiling and absentminded manner. Even with all the changes, small and big, the rhythm of his days was not affected.
Yet, he was still feeling unbalanced, and the few weeks that passed since his conversation with Izo hadn't changed the feeling.
Especially with Izo himself changing. Izo had arched an eyebrow when he heard Thatch complaining that even Izo had fallen into this 'trap' of change. The crossdresser had given a long-suffering sigh, and spoke slowly, deliberately as if speaking to someone who was an idiot, slow-witted, dumb, and deaf child. "Repeat after me: bettering yourself is not a bad thing. Think of it as training to make a better meal or… prank. The more you plan and consider things, and train, the better the end result is." And he does understand.
He does (he has a hard time keeping himself from bursting out laughing at hearing Izo's tone of voice).
He just doesn't like it. Yes, he is aware that this does make him the slow-witted dumb child Izo was speaking to.
It just felt somehow… unnatural.
Everyone on the Moby trained and tried to stay in shape. You couldn't be the top pirates around if you were lazy and anyway, they didn't want their Father to fight when they could take care of the bastards. Except everyone had done it independently, with no organization, rhythm, or consistency. No one told anyone when and what to do. It was each to his own, and mistakes were made. Well, not anymore.
Izo had been training, much more than usual, focusing especially on Haki. Which wasn't bad per se. And on the plus side, Thatch had finally understood what Marco kept ranting on and on about after he and Haruta pulled some massive and successful prank (which was always). And suddenly everyone was pranking and joking with each other for days and days. "You are a 'role model' yoi, when you do it, it gives the green light for others to do it too…. So please, stop!"
Because suddenly everyone was doing it! Everyone! Other commanders, other divisions. His own division.
Everyone was wanting to learn and better themselves.
This wasn't some kind of passing fancy that disappeared after a few days or weeks.
No.
It had become so big that they had a timetable for classes.
Yes, for Whitebeard-beard sake they had classes. More than half of the crew never even heard of school or even gone into one. But they had C. L. A. S. S. E. S.
He wasn't even kidding. Most of the commanders, but also others of the crew, were teaching sword technique, Haki, hand to hand etc etc... Hell, he joked that they should change their names from Whitebeard Pirates to Whitebeard School.
The problem was that his joke caught on (the one time he didn't want it to).
You're most welcome to the 'Whitebeard School of Piracy and Marine Bashing'.
It was written on the board above where the timetable of the classes available each week were posted every Monday morning.
And not any school but a boarding school, few of their allies would come and stay on the ship because of those classes. It was insane!
Izo had even dragged him to a few classes. One about knives, which he really objected to. He was a chef; he knew his way around knives. Izo had stared at him unblinkingly. "You know how to use it, doesn't mean you know how to dodge and evade them." Another class he was dragged to was yoga (What kind of word is Yoga? He never heard it before. A funny word!). It was where he learned about how to use mantras to change his life and brighten his day! Yes, indeed. It was going to be a good day.
It was his favorite class! It has some really deep spiritual stuff—you know, meditating and finding your inner-self stuff.
The teacher had said, "You have to find the wise inner warrior inside of you, and together you challenge your boundaries and limitations so that one day you will experience the limitless nature of your inner self." Some really substantial things indeed, and the poses were also cool. Great stretching and breathing control exercises. Mind you, he could never remember all the Poses' names, so he made up his own. His favorite stretches though were the Mountain Pose, Tree Pose, Boat Pose, Warrior Pose, Dangling a Marine Upside Down Pose, Banging a Pan on Someone's Head Pose (unfortunately Thatch was banned from bringing his own iron-pan to class, apparently he was supposed to imagine it, and not use the actual thing. He was so devastated!), and the Strangling Sea King Pose (Very good for your arms and legs).
It should be a mandatory class! Even Pops came a few times, and sat beside him. It was so fun! It was the only class Pops participated in, which should tell you everything.
A few of his division mates had asked him to open a class on cooking techniques for the rest, which he was considering. Truth to be told, the only reason he didn't do it yet, was because he knew that everyone would rub it in his face if he did, as he was the one who opposed all this, kept complaining, and made fun of these new ideas the most. They were bloody a Sanko crew. Classes!
Things were not only changing. It felt like things were spiraling out of control.
It was just like he woke up in an alternative universe where everything was just sooooo wrong (no, it wasn't right. No matter what the voice in his head said).
He really tried to let it go, told himself it was just him being an overly sentimental sob. And really, as much as he would never admit it aloud, these changes, no, 'improvements,' as Marco called them, seriously were good ones. They made things run smoother, and made the jobs of his crewmates —no, whole divisions— easier, more efficient. No downsides he could see. Everyone seemed happier because of them.
Except it just kept bugging him. Like an itch that wouldn't leave him alone. The more he tried not to think about it, the more it prickled.
He thought and agonized a lot about when it all began to go 'wrong'. He ignored the Izo-like voice in his head that insisted it was 'go right'.
He wasn't entirely sure. But he felt it started after the hug.
Yes. A HUG.
It was a surprise. A good surprise. A great surprise. Who wouldn't love a hug from his own father?
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"Damn, this would cost us a hand and leg!"
Fossa whistled as he lit the cigar in his mouth, as they all examined the damage left by the fight between their Father and Red Hair Shanks.
Few snickered.
"You think Pops took his leg to go with the missing hand?" Blamenco asked, with a snort.
"He seemed to walk on two when he left," someone in earshot from the second division piped up helpfully (raining on their parade). They all grunted in response.
"I wonder how he lost his arm," muttered Izo. Some of the others had pensive looks as well.
"Yeah, what kind of monster did he face to lose it?" Haruta asked bluntly.
The man just fought with their father. Granted, it was a short fight, and he had not used his legendary Devil Fruit Power (the brat didn't merit that honor). Yet the fact remained Red Hair was still able to hold his own against a Sanko. Someone was able to take his arm?
"Teach, did you finish the job without telling us?" Jiru asked jokingly, looking around, "Huh, where did he..."
"He went with Namur and Atmos to check on damages to the lower floors."
"Teach raised the possibility of damage to the underside."
"Oof, right. Good old Teach to think of that."
A sudden unmerciful nudge with someone's elbow aimed at his ribs, had Thatch clutching his chest, and shooting the assailant a dirty look.
"What was that fo..."
Haruta hushed him quickly and gestured with his eyes. Thatch obediently followed his gaze.
"Look at Marco's vein-popping," Haruta whispered with a poker face that took him years to perfect.
Thatch stared, his aching chest all but forgotten. Marco had his arms folded and was surveying the damage to the deck. Moving slowly and picking debris, and mostly staring (ahem glaring ahem) at it all, and muttering under his breath.
They nudged each other playfully a couple of times, snickering quietly, ignoring the weird looks aimed their way by the others.
"I think we should all take a few steps back, he is about to blow up,'' Thatch announced in a loud stage-whispered voice, theatrically.
Haruta and Thatch took a few steps back deliberately, almost bumping into those behind them, who just moved out of the way after some grumbling. The two known pranksters shared a look and then they both fell into a bout of uncontrollable laughter.
Those that were listening in on their conversation from the beginning joined with the laughter of their own. Meanwhile, most of the crew just shook their heads and ignored them, already used to the two's unexplained antics.
Marco paused in his stride, turned around, and shot them a look. If a look could kill, they would have become a decayed corpse where they stood.
He turned back and strode to Pops' chair, the rest following him in a more subdued manner.
Their captain was sitting on his designated chair in the center of the Moby, absentmindedly staring at the huge bottle of sake in his hand.
"Pops did you teach that Red Brat a lesson?"
"Oiii, what kind of question is that? Of course, he did."
"So what did he do to piss you off?"
"Was he trying to challenge you?"
"He seemed friendly when he came here!"
Their questions and jest seemed to startle him from his reverie.
Their Captain's narrowed eyes scanned the deck, the faces watching him. His penetrative brown eyes moved over each of the attendees. His gaze seemed to randomly stop on some faces for a few seconds, and then moved along.
The Fourth Division Commander looked around and he could see some of his brothers and sisters tensing up, including him, and the mood was strange. The fact that Pops had yet to say anything also unsettled them.
The cook turned, feeling someone watching him. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Pops staring directly at him. Pops held his gaze, and Thatch smiled back instinctively. He was about to greet him when the words died on his lip.
Never before had he seen that kind of look in his father's eyes before. He couldn't explain it, but the look on Pops' face made him freeze. He felt like his heart was breaking for some reason.
"Thatch."
His name was said with such emotion that it made him give an involuntary shiver.
It made him want to look around to see the others' reaction. To see if it all was part of his imagination, but he couldn't look away.
As if an unseen power was pulling him, Thatch found himself moving forward. Others parted ways, but he paid them no heed.
He stopped only when Pops put the bottle down on the deck and stood up. The loss of eye contact for a second seemed to have jolted him up from the trance he was stuck in. He was about to joke or say anything to break the strange mood that had overtaken the ship, when Pops stood up and took a few large steps in his direction.
Their Father knelt on one knee with the shin of his leg resting flat on the wooden floor and lowered himself until his face was eye level with startled Thatch. And with one sweeping movement, he pulled the much smaller man into his embrace with one arm. Giving him a crushing hug. Thatch's first reaction was to squirm, and he almost, almost squeaked in surprise (He really didn't. They were the Whitebeard pirates, they didn't Squeak. They shouted in bloody fury! If anyone squeaked it would be Marco, 'cause he is a part bird), but he quickly returned the hug with as much enthusiasm. His ear was pressed hard against Pops' chest so that he could hear his pounding heart. Thatch smiled and felt himself relax.
Much later, he would be reminded of the look on Pops' face that he glimpsed before he was hugged and wonder if the look filled with grief, concern, and longing, was real, or a fragment of his imagination.
Despite how nice it felt, a few seconds was all Thatch could take before he squirmed again in Pop's embrace, calling his Father's name in urgency. Pops' physical power was nothing to laugh about, and he wasn't holding back much. Thatch was sure he broke a few ribs (checking later at the infirmary proved him wrong).
As he suddenly held him, Pops had suddenly released him and stood back up, his signature smile back on his face.
But that didn't seem to calm everyone.
Thatch was still rooted in his place when Marco came to stand beside him.
"Pops, is there something wrong, yoi?" Marco had asked what was on everyone's mind. His popping vein seemed to be taking a break at the moment.
Their Father moved back to his chair, sat back and retrieved the bottle of sake, taking a gulp, he answered calmly and seriously.
"Where to begin!"
He said it so seriously that it stunned them. Marco let out some colorfully heated cursing. The popping vein had returned from his break. Few of the others were already planning the demise of one Red Hair Pirate that dared upset their father.
Their elaborate plans were foiled by a thunderous laugh.
"You think the tiny brat would be able to do anything to upset me, Gurararararaarara!" Their captain laughed wholeheartedly. For the first time since they came down to the main deck, the mood had changed to elation and light-hearted banter.
"I just remembered something unpleasant from the past," he explained to them.
Most of the veterans nodded in understanding. Even the non-veteran, like him, knew of Red Hair Shanks' connection to the Pirate King, Pops' rival.
"I need to change my mood, bring more sake, let's celebrate." Their father's voice boomed.
"Pops, you were drinking a lot already, and we are low..."
"Stop nagging Marco! We only live once, Gurararararaararararara,'' Whitebeard said and gave a conspiratorial wink. His sons agreed, hooting and cheering, their good spirits completely restored. Well, except for Marco, who had a slumped look of defeat.
"Burn! Someone bring the doctor, I don't think the phoenix powers are enough to heal this," Haruta said from his side. He was so memorized with all that had transpired that he hadn't noticed Haruta's arrival.
"Oops, I forget Marco is the doctor. He should be fine then!"
They both laughed, while Marco, standing not that far from them, didn't even twitch. He was only looking at Pops' direction with a pensive look.
Things got rowdy real fast as befitting the Sanko's crew. Chatters and cheers could be heard in every corner of the ship.
"You heard Pops, come on we should go wild!"
"YEAH! It's Captain's orders!"
"AYE!"
"Shouldn't we be cleaning?" one of the newly joined asked.
"Later boy, later!"
"It isn't like all the debris will not be waiting for us tomorrow!"
"Don't worry, they will wait just for you in the morning."
Light snacks and drinks had suddenly appeared everywhere. Everyone was having a bloody good time.
Pops was surrounded by his sons and daughters. The nursing staff insisted on hooking him back up to life support equipment and IV fluids, which were now being administered while he was busy interacting with others. Pops would sometimes call on one of his sons specifically, and exchange a few words with them, sometimes hugs, but it always ended with both of them laughing.
Thatch was standing in a group with some of the other commanders, and a few of his division when he was called upon.
"Thatch, son, I feel like eating oden," Pops requested.
"The fish cake stew?" Thatch asked with a raised eyebrow at the unusual request.
Thatch's mind was racing, checking if they had all the ingredients to make the stew. He couldn't remember Pops' ever asking for any kind of food. His requests were usually centered around sake.
He needed dashi, fish balls, fish cakes, deep-fried tofu, hard-boiled eggs, konnyaku, whatever vegetables they had. He would drag out the biggest pot they had, and make it here for everyone to share. Pops would like that.
"Coming right up Pops!" Thatch announced cheerfully and ran to the kitchen, ordering the still sober from his division to follow him.
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Thatch had prepared one hell of oden. Really, they had ended preparing a few huge pots, everyone wanted to taste the food that Pops had specially requested. A few of the veterans told stories of the former Second Division Commander that answered to the name Oden, and his favorite food was also oden.
Pops had given him more than a few compliments, that even now made him blush. Thatch had felt immensely proud when he saw Pops' expression after he took the first spoonful of the stew.
They had celebrated until the early morning hours, nonetheless, the merciless Marco had woken them all up using a frying pan and large steel spoon.
Even with the headaches that everyone was nursing from too much drinking they were all forced to begin the cleaning and repair of the ship, by an extremely loud and cheerful Marco, who they all cursed in unison and his damn healing phoenix powers.
Pops and Red Hair had really gone all out in their fight. Brief as it had been, the damage remained extensive, and fixing it all up took a lot more than they first anticipated. Marco's cheerful mood suddenly took a nosedive. Everyone stayed away from him —on principle— but more so when he started glaring and pacing around the ship, muttering under his breath and cursing —his rage directed at one specific red-haired pirate.
The popping veins returned with a vengeance, and Marco had a long meeting with Pops concerning this, it seemed they would need to dock the ship for a while for extensive repairs. At least that was what they thought.
For the next few weeks, Pops had been having private chats with all his sons, from commanders, veterans, ones who had left to captain their own crews, to newbies. People were curious at first, wondering if Pops was planning something. But everyone that met him said the same thing that they had light chats about life on the Moby, their general wellbeing, their dreams, plans and such.
They all had chalked it up to Pops being sentimental after whatever memory had triggered the confrontation with Red Hair.
Thatch had also been called to one of these private meetings. Pops had given him a light hug, released him with a pat on the back, and told him to sit and tell him about what he was up to. Thatch did just that, sharing with him some of his very well thought out jokes that promised to shatter the sea with laughter, jokes that he was yet to share with his adoring fans. Pops had dubbed them poor sods who didn't know what was about to hit them, while still chuckling at Thatch's well thought out jokes.
Once Thatch began speaking, there was nothing that could stop him (Izo had told him repeatedly that he had the greatest weapon of all: his inability to shut up. If only they could mass produce it, then the world would be at their mercy, shaking with desperation, begging for it to stop).
He had also told Pops about a few more pranks he was considering and Pops had even given him some pointers (A blessing! He had received a blessing! He was looking forward to the throbbing vein appearing on Marco's head when he told him Pops' was part of the prank).
Looking back now at the first hug and examining the whole encounter from every angle. He felt with certainty that something important had transpired in those few seconds that he still couldn't grasp.
Whistling still, Thatch laid the dough gingerly on the counter, then pulled apart a section of dough and, with a rolling pin he'd rubbed with flour, started pressing it into a smooth, flat circle. Lightly dusting the top with flour, he rolled it onto a rolling pin, and draped it into a greased pie pan and into the oven.
By the end of the week after the HUG, Marco had called a Commander's meeting and announced that they were going to do some upgrades to the ship. "If we are going to do some major fixing anyway, why not just do an upgrade while we are at it, yoi". And not only for this ship, but to the other two too. So all the Commanders should prepare suggestions and ideas of things that should be improved in their divisions and the ship in general by the end of next week.
Pandora's box had been opened.
Every Commander had a list of things he wished for, dreamed of. Buried it deep in his heart. And it was repeatedly crushed by one painful word: "Budget, yoi".
They all — including him— had gone wild. Even Marco's throbbing vein didn't stop them from asking for all they desired. A slide from the lower deck to the bottom of the ship, advanced telescopic equipment, engineering and weapon development rooms, swimming pool and sauna.
Thatch was no different. On the top of his list was the wood-fired oven made of polished stones, beautiful and very hearthy. He had once seen it at an ocean-going restaurant ship. Also, he wanted a bigger garden aboard, like a whole floor bigger—they had a lot of mouths to feed.
Pops was by no means stingy. He was very generous. Except he would usually see this sort of stuff as wasting money that could be used for buying more sake. Of course, for as long as Thatch had sailed with him, whenever they found/took/stole/conquered treasure, before the treasure was divided between the crew or whoever was involved in finding it, a big share of it was taken for the maintenance of the ship (food, repairs, sake). Pops had said loudly over the grumbling of his sons, that them paying for stuff to maintain the ship and not only for their private expanse, was deliberate. It was designed to make them more independent and built character. So no one dared complain afterward.
Except of course it was inevitable someone would eventually ask Pops what he did with his own share of the treasure (big mistake, huge, tremendously huge), he only had a mysterious smile on his face, and saluted with his tankard filled with sake. At first some, including Thatch, thought that was his answer. Sake.
Yet then Pops had said in earnest tone that he was squirreling it away for his grandkids. Poor him, he was becoming an old man, except none of his sons were giving him grandkids. Where had he gone wrong in raising them?
It was unanimously agreed it was too embarrassing to ever ask Pops about his share of treasure ever again.
He could smell the pie crusts baking in the oven. Time to take them out.
By the time they were finished, it was no mere upgrade by any means. With how much beli was being spent, it might have been cheaper to just build another Moby in his opinion. Seriously. Maybe even two.
Two whole decks were added, bristling with lots of new cannons, while even more were hidden behind concealed hatches. Including some new types of weapons he had never even heard of before. They also had better storage facilities and more paddles on the sides. Thatch heard Marco order special resin from Sabaody Archipelago, which would allow the Moby to submerge at 10,000 meters below sea level. Somehow this sort of (ultra-expensive) coating could be stored and applied later, unlike in every other case. The intelligence division got a whole bloody 'makeover', the same with medic bay and the infirmary, last he heard they were trying to recruit more doctors.
His own kitchen and the dining room got bigger. In the center, four large tables that could seat a few hundred each, made of beautifully grained wood and polished like a mirror were screwed to the floor. He finally got the counter he wanted, made from marble. New walk-in fridges, and THE oven. He really wasn't complaining. He literally cried from happiness when they finally installed the oven.
Then come more training, and drilling exercises. And he doesn't just mean the classes stuff. But actual war drills. Lots of them. Make sense, doesn't it? The ship changed; you want all the ship members to get used to it. To be able to move around with ease if they were under attack, or more likely when they attacked. So, they had 'war games'. Moby One attacking Moby Two. Moby Three against the other two. The three ships in an all-out war with each other. Pops stayed out of it to make things fair, while the Commanders were equally spread out among the three ships. They had some intense battles. For now, their ship, Moby One, was winning. Of course, as befitting of pirates, they were keeping score and lots of bets were being made. Let's just say that a lot was at stake, and not only their pride as Whitebeard Pirates (which is super important).
They had also begun to rendezvous with their allies more often and with larger numbers. For a long time, it had been arranged for their allies to meet them a few times a year, sometimes two and three allies at the same time, while they sailed in the New World. Their meetings were a cause for celebration, they shared news and stories, exchanged merchandise, and let each other know about any new island they had found that was worth visiting and exploring.
They still did all of that, but large-scale training battles were also added to their routine. They soon discovered that coordinated sailing between several ships took a lot of work and attention. There were also lots of things that needed to be taken into consideration, more than they first thought. Chain of command for example. Deciding the role of each ship, while trying to play for the strength of each crew or the ship itself. Coordinated firing, which had led to some really not funny close calls before they got that settled out.
It took more than a few tries and lots of effort, but they could sail smoothly now, no matter how many ships were involved. The other things were still work in progress, yet each time they were getting better and better.
Speaking of their allies, these upgrades were not exclusive only to the Whitebeard Pirates. Pops had been smart about it, suggesting no-interest loans to all of his allies. He knew well that they would refuse to take free beli, or gifts that big. The idea of loans however was very popular, as it was something they were merely borrowing and giving back. A large number of their allies had asked for a loan to purchase new equipment and weapons, or did some major repairs. The beautiful results from the work they had put that money had been pretty obvious to everyone during those drills.
The improvements had also meant those crews had an easier time getting together the cash to repay Pops. Most of the loans were already largely paid off even!
They had all asked Pops why he was suddenly doing all this, and if he was planning anything big, maybe attacking one of the other Sankos. He had answered bluntly that he wasn't, but that didn't mean that others weren't planning something. Moreover, some news he had received had gotten him a bit worried, and he didn't want any of his sons and daughters to be caught with their pants or skirts down in the loo if anything were to happen. His announcement had amused and relaxed them, while putting them a bit on edge, all at the same time.
Thatch personally enjoyed those training battles. That was the one change he didn't mind. Really, these days they usually didn't get to fight too much, since few people dared to attack them. Nowadays it was only newbies who tried, and even then it ended quickly after a few of the crew joined the fun cough fight, he meant fight, or by one swing from Pops, and some of the attackers ended up joining them, or allying with them. So, this kind of change of pace was welcome.
Also, it was always good fun when they met with their allies. The more the merrier. Only last month they met with Whitey Bay, once part of the original Whitebeard crew but she left with Pops' blessing years ago to build her own, and was still allied with them. Thatch had heard so many stories from back when she had sailed as part of the crew, that it almost felt like she had never left, even though she had already had her own crew when he joined.
They also met Delacuaji, Blondie, Agsilly, McGuy, and Squard. The latter stayed three extra days and had long discussions with Pops, at the end of each day he seemed exhausted and his eyes were prominently red-rimmed. No one said anything per Pops' orders. But when Squard had finally left, his expression seemed clearer and his posture relaxed. He had bowed to Pops' for a long time and said in a determined voice that he would try his best. Pops' told him, "That's all I am asking, safe travel, son".
Whatever they talked about, it was something that Squard had needed to hear, judging by his reaction. He had overheard others whisper that Pops had decided it was time to help Squard face his past. Thatch had heard the stories about how Squard lost his whole crew by the hand of the Pirate King. He can't imagine how he would feel if he lost so many of his brothers.
Next week they were to meet a few more of their allies. He was looking forward to meeting Oars after such a long time. The feasts they would have. He couldn't wait to show off his new Oven to Oars.
The one change that made him speak out with Pops, was the Commanders' solo missions.
It wasn't a rare occurrence for Commanders to be sent on missions all alone. Except it wasn't that common either, maybe one of them going every few months. These days, whenever he didn't see one of his senior brothers, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that he was on a solo mission or another.
When Thatch asked for an explanation, Marco just shrugged and said that the upgrade cost a lot of money that they needed to make up for. Instead of doing some big raid using the whole crew to get back the investment, he intended to work the commanders to the bone to get the whole investment back. Marco's eyes were calculating when he casually said that they could still return the Oven if he didn't want… that shut him up all right. Anything but his darling Oven.
He himself wasn't yet sent on his own solo mission. He impulsively mentioned this to Marco once, who had told him "glad you are volunteering, yoi". Since then Thatch had kept his mouth shut in front of him about the subject. Marco may have not sent him on a mission alone, but he sure worked him and his whole division to exhaustion. He was no phoenix, but a greedy Gannet!
When he breached the subject with Pops. Their Captain had promised him that this was only temporary, and that he also didn't want to risk sending out the Commanders like this so often. Except for now, it was necessary. He also had lightly teased him about the Oven.
His Oven was a masterpiece. He doesn't know how he had cooked before without it. He could use it for everything; roasting, frying and baking. Thatch enjoyed the warmth emitting from it when he opened the lid to check on the new batch of pie crusts in the oven.
Speaking of, he heard that Namur had come back last night. He was visiting some friends back in Fishman Island, and Pops asked him to deliver a message to the king (at least he wasn't sent on a solo mission). Thatch would see him at breakfast, he would surprise him with his favorite dishes.
Someone was suddenly sitting in front of his counter, cutting off his thread of thought. No one should be up yet.
"Teach, hey man. When did you arrive back?" Thatch greeted enthusiastically.
"Me, Marco, and the others had just arrived," Teach told him as he tried to get comfortable on his chair.
"Welcome back!"
"Thanks! I'm hungry, got any pie?" the big man asked expectantly, giving the chef his typical cheerful grin.
"Cherry pie!" said Thatch knowingly. "I'll make one for you. We need to celebrate you coming back."
Make that a few, or better lots of pies for him, Thatch corrected himself mentally.
Teach was round for a reason. The man could eat.
"Thanks Thatch, Zehahahahahaha!"
Thatch dismissed his thanks, as he searched for the cherries in the boxes.
"How was the mission? Anything exciting happened?"
"Nah, regular boring shit. We met the guy, took the boxes and paid him."
"What was it about again?"
"Eh!? Some kind of rare plant that the medics wanted. It's supposed to help heal injuries faster or something I think, ah... and there were other medical supplies."
Thatch nodded along, keeping with chatter as his hands stirred the ingredients together.
They have been stockpiling lots of medicine. He was pretty sure that in a few more weeks, they will have more medicine, medical plants or anything related to medicine than any big hospital in the New World. Marco had mentioned to the commanders that he was specifically searching for medicine to help with Pops' heart problem, and to keep quiet about it. He wasn't even sure if Pops knew about this or if it was Marco's own private project. But he was all for it.
"Where's Marco?" Their beloved commander, the sole bird in the vast sky, the pineapple of the fruits, the blon—
"Gone to report to Pops. I bet he will come right after. He's probably also hungry! How is the new oven?" Teach added with laughter in his tone. Everyone knew how excited Thatch was about the oven.
"My baby is perfect," Thatch intoned as he began putting cherries filling that he whisked, with eggs and brown sugar inside of the ready pie shells. He put the pies back into the oven to bake it, closing the lid with ease.
"In a few minutes you are going to smell, taste and feel the difference yourself," boasted Thatch. Teach wasn't known for giving lots of praise to food, especially when a cherry pie was concerned. It was good enough if he didn't complain. Except the chef was sure that with the help of the new Oven, he would get not any praise, but high praise at that.
"Can't wait... Zehahahahahaha!" laughed Teach, then rubbed his belly with anticipation. Drool was forming at the corner of his mouth.
"So are you finally gonna join us as Commander? I heard Pops asked you again before your mission. Come on, join us. You will be a great Commander. You know the Second Division the best. I promise to make you a huge ass cherry pie to celebrate. I have the Oven to do it now." Thatch said as he turned to face him, and raised his eyebrows suggestively.
"Tempting...Zehahahaha! Really tempting… Zehahahahahaha!"
"So it's still nay," Thatch said, not hiding his disappointment.
"You know that responsibility isn't my thing."
"You were with the crew for a long time, longer than me, and you're a steady guy. You get the job done," insisted Thatch.
"Yeah, regular ones, not the Commander ones. Where you're responsible for everyone in your divisions' wellbeing. That's a lot of responsibility! And Oi! I don't have that kind of ambition!"
Thatch nodded in understanding. That was true. A Commander not only was supposed to be a top fighter, but they also had a lot of other things they were responsible for, and not only when his division was fighting. Maintaining order, checking supplies, the wellbeing of his division and lots and lots of the cursed paperwork. Personally, he had been truly and utterly duped into it.
Become a Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. A Sanko. The most feared Emperor of the sea. They said. Nobody mentioned the paperwork. None of the other Commanders had warned him. Those assholes! He had complained loudly and r repeatedly about this travesty. It was daylight robbery!
"We are pirates! What did you expect?"
"Welcome to the drowning club! Drowning in what you ask? In paperwork!"
"Misery loves company."
Marco passed by and said, "All the information about the duties and responsibilities of a Commander are in the paperwork you signed when you became one. It's just none of you read them before you sign..."
Everyone groaned in unison. Even Jozu, and Namur.
Thatch opened his mouth.
"You can quit after you give notice of two years. Page seven paragraph three."
He closed his jaw, and with a hunched figure of defeat, and depressed tone, Thatch asked his tormentor "Did you?"
"..."
"..."
With no immediate answer forthcoming, everyone stared at the First Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates with big eyes, silent and watchful.
Nonchalantly, Marco had said, "Would I be in the position to take care of your sorry asses, if I did?"
A few had cheered hearing this, while a pleased look passed over the others' faces. Misery loved company indeed. Thatch laughed out loud (until Marco reminded him, he was still the senior Commander, and that Thatch answered to him).
One thing for sure, at that moment Thatch had made a decision. He was going to do the same thing that was done to him. It was some kind of tradition that he needed to uphold, he convinced himself.
He wasn't going to warn the new pushov—the new commander who decided to accept the slavery contra— The very sought after 'promotion' to a Whitebeard Commander.
YES! He was an asshole too! Like the other Commanders. (Were you picked to be a commander cause you were an asshole, or being a Commander made you one? That was the burning question. Well, either way he was going to be an asshole about it!).
Still, Thatch shuddered in remembrance on his first day trying to conquer the endless paperwork, and forced himself to focus on the conversation with Teach.
"I know, I don't know how, but you don't even have a bounty. It always blows my mind when I think about it!"
"Zehahahahahaha!" Teach laughed yet gave no explanation at how he achieved such a feat.
"You are strong. I mean you even fought with Red Hair at one time and got him good!"
"Yeah, I feel bad about scaring his handsome face! Zehahahahahaha!"
"He deserved worse after upsetting Pops!" Thatch said with a huff, making the big pirate laugh harder.
"Yeah, don't like the attention, and being a Whitebeard commander is really a big deal…. I prefer to enjoy my pies in peace and quiet wherever I go!"
"I would say you are on the right track!" Thatch joked, looking pointedly at the other's stomach. As if waiting for a sign, his stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. Gurgle, rumble, grrrrr.
Unashamedly, Teach's round fat belly shook with laughter and Thatch found himself joining him with loud laughter of his own.
Teach was a true pirate indeed with great ambitions! His ambition was to keep his stomach happy with lots and lots of cherry pies. He remembered once asking Teach about his obsession with pies, and if he preferred something else that was not 'desert'. Teach looked almost angry, as if by calling the pie a mere dessert, he had given a grave insult. "Pie is an important part of the meal, like meat, spuds and bread," Teach had solemnly informed him. It was one of the rare times that he saw the cherry loving pirate so serious.
"Plus I see all the paperwork you have to deal with," Teach added with some glee at his misfortune.
Thatch winced, managing to hide it by turning around, busying himself with checking the oven.
Teach's loud laughter told him he didn't quite manage it. The large man was well aware of the curse of being a Commander. He didn't need the warning.
That was so very true. It was one huge downside that all the commanders faced. If you weren't always on the top of it, you could find yourself buried in a nightmare mountain of paperwork. Really, even night duty and bathroom duty were preferable. Anything but the fearsome monster that was called Paperwork, and his sidekick Marco.
"So yeah, no thank you. I love my freedom...Zehahahahahaha!" Teach announced, as Thatch turned around presenting him with two beautifully baked pies.
"That I can understand," muttered Thatch, remembering the piles of paperwork he still had on his desk (more accurately his desk was buried underneath them). Maybe seeing Marco now wasn't such a good idea. He could still leave be—
"Thatch, yoi."
No such luck.
"Hey Marco, uhhh… Welcome back."
"I see you're already eating Teach."
Thatch looked to see Teach had already cut the pie into quarters, and he slowly chewed on the first one, blood-red juice dripping from his mouth, and coating his teeth.
"Hey Commander. This is really good, Thatch! I can see what you mean with the new oven, make me a few more… Zehahahahahaha!" Teach wasn't even bothering with wearing a napkin by the second bite. Thatch smirked triumphantly. High praise achieved.
"See, it's a great investment. A necessary one," boasted Thatch, aiming his words at Marco, who only lazily raised an eyebrow.
Thatch turned to prepare a few more. Even though baking with this Oven was so incredibly faster than any other mere oven he had worked with before, Teach's appetite was huge and unforgiving. Especially when it came to cherry pies.
"Go see Pops after you finish eating, yoi." Marco said as he sat down, with only two seats between him and Teach.
"Is it about the Commander position?" asked Thatch eagerly, not lifting his eyes from the work he was doing.
Marco shrugged, "Pops didn't tell me."
"I will be in a bit," promised Teach, already finishing his second pie and licking the plate clean of any red juice.
"Take your time, yoi."
"So, what do you want to eat Marco? Chicken? Maybe some other exotic bird? Some little cannibalism won't kill anyone," Thatch teased, lifting his head a bit, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"Same old Thatch. You never get bored with birds' jokes, yoi" Marco shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh.
"Never!" Thatch loudly announced with flare. Laughter erupted from everyone near enough to listen to their exchange. Teach had the loudest laugh, his round body danced with the force of it.
"Just get me whatever, yoi."
"Chicken it is!" Thatch announced with mirth twinkling on his eyes and tone.
"Oi Thatch, about the paperwork for the new—"
Thatch didn't squeak or lose his balance or put a foot out inside an empty box to stop himself from falling on his face.
Shit!
Marco had a bored look as he looked at Thatch's comical almost fall.
Double shit.
"Zehahahahahaha!"
…
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XXXXX
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…
"We were able to intercept the package," said the Senior Agent, trying to keep the glee out of his voice.
Be professional, he reminded himself. It had been a few months since he was assigned to this special division, and this would be their first major operation. They had to be successful!
His commanding officer on the other side of the Den Den Mushi said, "Excellent, did the mission go smoothly?" His voice as always showed no emotion at all.
"Yes sir. The information was accurate, and we were able to execute the mission as per your instructions."
The voice hummed and demanded, "Did we find where the package came from?"
"No, sir. Our agents in the ground are still trying to find out. Nothing out of the ordinary or suspicious about the shop that sent it, but we are keeping it under surveillance as per your instructions."
"What kind of shop was it again?"
"It's Tailor shop sir. Its name..." The Senior Agent moved the papers in front of him in haste searching for the relevant information. "Ah… yes, the Sew Wave Shop."
"Use any means necessary to find out how the package arrived at this shop, and how long it had stayed there before they tried to send it to the Whale."
"Yes, sir. Do we have permission to take over the shop and interrogate the shopkeepers?"
"No. They must not know that we found out about this place."
The Senior Agent mentally slapped himself. It was a stupid question. If they found that their secret dead drop had been discovered, then they would find different means to communicate, and his division would have to search anew.
"Yes, sir."
"Now, describe the package."
"It's a brown box, length 145 cm, and width 110 cm, it's wrapped with 2 strings. Nothing is written on it."
"Is it heavy?"
"No, it's surprisingly light." He paused and added "Sir," in a hurry.
They had bets going on about what could this secret and express package sent to the Whale be hiding.
"Open it, but make sure we can warp it back the way it was."
"Of course sir." He had already anticipated this kind of order. Finding out what was in the package mattered only if the intended receiver didn't know that they knew about what it contained.
Carefully taking his time, he untangled the strings, and cautiously unwrapped the package, making sure not to graze or scratch the package surface. Thankfully no tape was used.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"What is it?" the voice demanded, showing urgency. It was the first time his handler had shown any emotion.
"It's hmmm...some kind of fabric… sir."
"What?"
"It's black fabric, sir… It's very light, like nylon, sir. I've never seen this kind of fabric before… very smooth..."
"…."
"It's... trousers, sir. For someone big. I mean, that they aren't for someone in... human normal size. Maybe a giant sir..."
"….."
"Oh, sir, there is a paper inside the package."
"Yes?"
The line wasn't cut.
"It's a thank you note…It has the Whale's name on it. They thank him for buying from them… the Sew Wave Shop… buying a pair of Y—Yoga pants."
"A what?"
"Ehh.. Yoga pants… I'm not sure if I am saying it right. It's Y-O-G-A, space, P-A-N-T-S. Is it some code word sir?"
"It's not one I heard before." After a long pause, the voice demanded, "Anything else?"
"No… sir, ohhh… in the note, they tell them that they are always happy to receive more orders from them. And that's it sir."
"..."
"..."
"Take pictures of everything, the package, note and the… trouser thing… and then wrap it back and send it on its way."
"Yes sir."
"Take a sample from the fabric…but make sure it's not noticeable, and send it for analysis right away."
"Yes sir."
"Send everything to the pre-assigned drop point as fast as you can. I want you and the others to focus on finding out whatever the hell you can about these 'Yoga Pants'."
"Yes sir," he said earnestly, except he was speaking to the air. The call had already ended.
Still clutching the fabric in his hand, the Senior Agent wondered for the thousand times if being assigned to this division was the right career choice.
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Disclaimer: the writer knows nothing about yoga. NOTHING.
What classes do you think are fitting to be in the Whitebeard School of Piracy and Marine Bashing? Ideas are welcome ;D
Someone, please, I am begging you, draw me a picture of Whitebeard with a so called "professor hat" (google it). We need this for the successes of the school! XD
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The story tvtropes page! Link: tvtropes pmwiki /Fanfic/DSwaysTheWavesOfTime Check it out! And keep it growing! Hallelujah!
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Really curious, with all the hints I have been leaving, what kind of theories you have. Share with me!
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Stay safe. Wear a mask, keep the distance, read fanfic, and leave a long reviewwwwwwwwww. Waiting to hear your thoughts. :)