My Only Equal
A flash of lightning cracks overhead, but it's a flash of purple that draws Hina's attention. Betty. They fight, side by side, pushing the pirate back, forcing him on the defensive and wearing him down until- Until he falls.
Written for the OP Marines Week!
DAY 4: Rivals
Blue, red, and green flashing lights across the walls. Bodies writhing on the concrete dance floor. The smoke above from cigarettes, the air humid and warm, sweat and perfume, tobacco and alcohol. The garish words and art on the walls glowing and pulsing, the floor vibrating below her feet. The leather of her skirt tight against her hips, her heels making her tower over the people grinding, moving, flowing around her.
Pink hair pulled up high on her head, leaving the pale skin of her neck exposed. Hina twirled, feeling the eyes on her. She owned this space, commanded the attention of the other dancers. They couldn't compare to her, they never had. They didn't have her long legs, her toned arms. They hadn't put in the effort to do so. Not like her.
The crowd parted, in that way that it flows out and in. Letting someone else into Hina's space. The dazzling blue lights and pulsing base illuminate her short violet hair, shaved close to her scalp. Thigh high black boots soar up her legs, buckles and lace. Shorts, garters, leather belts. A sports bra and a studded black jacket. Purple lipstick, face glitter that glows.
But it's her stunning, enthralling, hungry green eyes that command Hina's attention. They meet on the floor, surrounded by shifting, moving, rippling bodies. The brush of heated skin against skin. A hand slides up Hina's thigh, into her hair. Lips against her neck as they sway. Never has anyone approached Hina so confidently. Never.
They leave the dance floor, walking into the dark spaces of the abandoned building. Voices in the dark, cursing, laughing, smoking. They climb the broken stairs to the second floor, and the girl lights Hina's cigarette in the moonlight.
Hina gasps as she comes awake. The earth is hard under her back, a bird trills loudly in the pine tree above. She sits up, stretching the kinks from her spine. Her horse chuffs lightly, the grass all around her hooves bitten down to the root.
She makes a simple breakfast, saddles Tequila, and resumes her path towards the cabin.
Hina stops for the night as twilight falls and unsaddles her horse, walking her to cool her down before wiping the sweat from her hide and running a brush through her coat. She whickers at Hina, interested in the sugar cube she knows is in Hina's pocket. She smiles and holds it out for Tequila to take.
The campfire glows, crickets chirp. Another day's ride and she'll arrive. The quiet of the mountain always calms her, but this time Hina feels unnerved by the silence. Or relieved. She can't decide. It's much preferred over the sound of screaming and gunfire. Preferred over the sobs of her terrified and broken opponents. Better than the sound of ice sizzling under magma, of earthquakes cracking the air.
But in the silence, there is nothing to distract her from the memory of those things either. From the fact that one day she'll likely have to go through it again.
Alfalfa reeks in the summer air. Hina decided to make the trip away from the city and out to the countryside. The stable sits before her in the early morning sun. A few horses are out in the paddock. Dust kicks up under her feet as she walks, her hair tucked under her hat, her pink button up shirt and matching riding boots making her stand out from the men working and prepping their mounts.
She readies Carmen and takes her out onto the track. There's a race coming soon and Hina needs to practice. She wants the prize money so she'll have something to tide over her passage to the next island.
She rides, the track flying under her feet. She will win the race. Nothing will stop her.
The race comes, and Hina looks at the competition. All men, many of whom leer at her. Useless. The spot next to her is empty until almost the starting bell. But a horse loads in, gleaming red coat and white saddle. But it's the rider, the jockey, that catches and holds Hina's eye. A woman, purple hair visible for only a moment before she slides on her helmet. Her green piercing eyes meet Hina's for a moment. The only other woman she's ever seen enter.
Then there is only the race.
Her competition falls behind her. They don't know the track like she does. They don't know when to use the crop, when to lean forward, urging speed and when to tell their steed to hold back. They haven't practiced like Hina. Haven't lived, breathed, the track. They gaze at her instead.
The finish line is in sight and she hears the hoof beats pounding the dirt behind her. Closer, closer, she can see the flaming steed in the corner of her eye. Carmen can smell her, and picks up speed, the filly's dark coat shining with sweat. Her heart beats in time with the thunderous noise of hooves. The woman catches up. Her eyes meet Hina's as she pulls ahead.
They cross the finish line and the woman refuses the prize money. Hina gets it instead.
She smiles, her eyes like jewels, later that evening as she watches Hina rub Carmen down. The smoke from her cigarette blossoms in the air over her head as she stands in the doorway of the stable.
Her name is Betty.
Hina blinks, the smoke from her cigarette drifting upward toward the tree branches. Tequila leans sleepily against the tree to which she was tethered. The river flows by, slow and easy. Not a care in the world, just ripples wearing down old stone. She'd reach the cabin tomorrow, sleep in a bed. Not alone. Though Hina knew it would be better if she had been.
Smoker would shake his head at her foolishness. Hina, so smart, the top of her class, the best and the brightest. A rising Navy star. On the fast track to Admiral.
And yet.
Green eyes haunt her as she puts out her cigarette and curls into her sleeping bag.
The rain was louder than the clash of metal on metal. Hina spun, her foot connecting with the stomach of a pirate twice her size. But you know what they say, the bigger you are, the harder you fall. With a quick leap, Hina left him on the ground, turning to handle her next opponent. The port was a battlefield, a blaze overtaking a nearby warehouse, the fire too hot to be quenched by the drenching downpour.
Illuminated by the firelight, Hina can make out the body of a little girl on the ground. She isn't moving. This island was peaceful. Small, worthless to these pirates except that it was easy prey. That's what it means to not be part of the World Government. Anger surges through Hina, a blackness that engulfs her, surrounds her. The rain batters the ground, Hina sweeps through every pirate she comes across. A punch, a kick, a backhand. Down, down, down.
They can't touch her. They underestimate her. They never see her coming.
The Captain though, he sees Hina. He knows better, experience turns a rat wary. He dodges, darts, blocks. Waiting for an opening. Hina wipes blood from her mouth with a curse. If he goes down, the rest of the rats will scatter. Hina knows she'll get them all. Drag them to the nearest World Government defended island and turn them in. A new purpose burns within her.
A flash of lightning cracks overhead, but it's a flash of purple that draws Hina's attention. Betty. They fight, side by side, pushing the pirate back, forcing him on the defensive and wearing him down until-
Until he falls.
And the rats scatter.
Green eyes gleam in the rain. A finger traces her cheek, a thumb glides across her lips. Betty smiles, her breath warm on Hina's neck.
The cabin comes into sight. Simple, familiar. Hina's secret place of refuge for over a decade. She leads Tequila into the small barn, wiping her down and grabbing hay from the bin. A worthwhile use of her paycheck, the groundskeeper was.
With that, Hina entered the cabin. The unadorned wood, the bookshelves on the walls, the art. Paintings, sculptures, bead work. Betty's taste impeccable as always. Hina could hear the sound of the blues coming from the bedroom upstairs.
Low horns, a saxophone. A raspy, sultry voice. The real sounds of rebellion. The music of the soul. Hina bit her lip and leaned heavily against the railing on the stairs. Her hands shake as she lights a cigarette. For a moment, she smells gunpowder and Hina is afraid to close her eyes. Afraid that instead of the White Beard pirates falling before her, she'll see purple hair, green eyes. The red flag of the Revolution trampled under her feet.
She hears footsteps on the landing above and looks up. Long legs in a maroon miniskirt, an open jacket, and red sunglasses. The light from the bedroom makes her bare skin gleam. Those mesmerizing green eyes grin at Hina.
"I beat you here," she says. Hina takes a drag on her cigarette before heading up the stairs. Betty's fingers slide into Hina's long pink hair and their lips meet. The sounds in Hina's head disappear. No gunfire, no screams.
They step into the bedroom, a lone sax playing on the record player.
The day may come where Hina regrets this. Mourns every moment, replays them over and over in her head. But for now, as her back sinks into the blankets, a thigh sliding between hers and green eyes all she longs to see...
Hina cannot let go.
Notes:
I listened exclusively to Romance by Ex:Re for this fic. I will be writing more of them. Both fierce, powerful, strong, smoking women.
This fic was written for One Piece Marines Week (check out the fic collection and all the artwork on twitter under the tag #OPMarinesWeek!)
Let me know your thoughts!
As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter at buggyisbest