Disclaimer: I got nothin', man

The trek back was a quiet one and for Sanji the walk through the cemetery took on a whole new level of unsettling, despite the early morning mist having dissipated and daylight chasing away the creepiness. Not only did they have to be more alert in order to avoid being spotted by the islanders, now the memory of the cave painted everything in a new, terrible light.

He didn't like it one bit. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Fortunately, they made it out without incident (although there had been one close call with Luffy attempting to play hide-and-seek among the tombstones), which left them at the outskirts of the town as they decided on their plan of action. Chopper was insistent on taking Sanji directly back to the ship and Sanji had no intention to argue. Brook joined them. Robin suggested that the rest of them split up, as both she and Nami still had things they wanted to get done around town, and more importantly, moving in such a large group around the residential district would probably be seen as suspicious.

Luffy, for his part, was ready to make a break for the nearest place that sold food.

Nami and Robin split from the group first and headed for their respective destinations while the others hung back. Surprisingly, Luffy didn't run off immediately.

"Chopper. I'll leave Sanji to you," Luffy said without a trace of his customary cheer. Sanji didn't even bother to grumble about his opinion not being asked.

"Aye aye!"

"Good." And just like that, Luffy was grinning again and back to his normal self. "I'm gonna go look for that one barbecue place I found yesterday! Their meat is so good! See ya!" Sanji felt nothing but pity for the poor soul that would have to put up with Hurricane Luffy, until he remembered his less-than-ideal experiences with the islanders and felt far better.

The trio set off at a more sedate pace, with idle conversation floating in and out of existence and the occasional concerned glance from Chopper. Luckily, the further they got without Sanji dramatically falling flat on his face the more it seemed to ease the doctor's worries, but only just in time for him to start worrying about the looks they garnered from the public instead. Everyone they passed glared at Sanji like he was the scum of the earth, as if his death would be an improvement in their eyes. For Chopper, the change from the previous day's friendly demeanor had to be jarring. The poor kid almost looked like he wanted to cry. To think the people who treated him so nicely could be so cruel… Yet Sanji couldn't help but feel a touch grateful that it was he who was considered a monster, not the reindeer. Chopper had suffered enough.

Didn't mean he was any happier about the metaphorical daggers being cast his way.

They turned down an empty street, already able to hear (and in Chopper's case, smell) the hustle and bustle of the market somewhere up ahead. Silently, Sanji began to brace himself for the inevitable tide of vicious disapproval that was bound to be thrown at him. He distracted himself by watching a few Fish as they went past, again closer than they had used to. They drew level with Chopper, and for just a moment Sanji could have sworn they were tinged with pink-

Crack

Pain exploded from at the back of his head and his vision filled with stars. He stumbled forward and barely managed to catch himself and remain upright. Beside him, Chopper let out a startled yelp and Brook gasped. The instant his vision cleared, Sanji whirled around to face his attacker, as Brook brought a hand to his cane, ready to unsheathe his sword.

What he saw wasn't quite what he'd expected. There, at the end of the street they had just come from, stood a group of kids. They ranged in age from about twelve to fifteen, and were all doing their best to look intimidating. Some held rocks the size of their fists, and a quick glance towards his feet told Sanji what exactly had just hit him.

The little shits had lobbed a rock at his head!

"What the fuck is the big idea?" he shouted, temper flaring because honestly, this was the last thing he needed. There was a moment of hesitation before the apparent leader of the little pack stepped forward.

"There's more where that came from, if you don't fuck off and go die!" Oh he thought he was so tough, didn't he, the bastard…

"Now now, this is highly unnecessary, wouldn't you say?" Brook said, his tone more menacing than Sanji had realized he was capable of. A vindictive grin threatened to break out on his face as most of the half-pint terrors flinched.

"Th-this doesn't concern you, alright? We're talkin' to Curly over here, so you just keep walkin'!" the quote-unquote leader shouted back, squaring his shoulders and trying to look bigger than he actually was. It was almost sad how quickly these kids were losing their bravado.

"Yeah! And you, Curly, leave! No-one wants you here, so just go away!" a younger girl shouted, chin tilted up in a fearful kind of defiance. Sanji responded with a tight smile. A lady is a lady, even in the company of downright terrible influences.

"My crew's log pose will set soon, Miss. After that, I'll be out of your hair. In the meanwhile, I merely ask for some patience." The words were more biting than he had intended but he was past the point of caring, what with his brand-spanking-new headache. He gave a short, stiff bow which he was half sure came off as sarcastic. The lead teenager certainly didn't seem to appreciate it at all.

"You fucker!"

Instinctively, Sanji would have ducked to avoid the rock thrown his way, but when a few Fish veered to the side he followed them instead. He pivoted on his right foot, dodging a second rock he hadn't realized had been thrown his way by another kid and which he would have ducked into had he gone with his initial reflexes. Without much thought or exertion, he brought his left leg up and caught the first rock with the tip of his shoe as he completed his spin. It was a light kick all in all, but still enough to send the rock flying back far harder than it had been thrown. It whistled right past Mr. Oh-so-tough's ear with deadly precision, close enough to flick his hair. The teenager's eyes widened in fear, and the boy seemed frozen to his spot. As the others realized what exactly had happened, they lost whatever approximations of bravery they had held. Some stood briefly paralyzed, while the rest turned tail and fled.

Sanji let his momentum dissipate and lowered his leg calmly. His stance was casual, hands stuffed in his pockets for added effect. "Now then, let's try this again. I will be leaving as soon as my crew's log pose has set, no action needed on your part. If, however, you feel you absolutely must do something about it now, you are free to try. But just a word of advice: don't start a fight you can't finish. And remember that next time… I won't miss." He was laying it on a bit thick at the end there, and threatening kids was really not his cup of tea no matter how annoying or violent they were (unbidden, the memory of the body of the little girl rose to mind), but maybe this way they would leave well enough alone. Perhaps they'd learn not to bite off more than they could chew. The next person they tossed rocks at might not hesitate to strike back.

And maybe he was just a little bit pissed off at them.

Just a bit.

With that, Sanji turned around and continued on his way. Chopper and Brook glanced at each other, the few kids who still remained in their places, and back again. Silently deciding they had nothing to add, they followed. It took a few turns for Chopper to finally finish processing what had just happened, but it was obvious when the realization clicked.

"Sanji, your head!"

A murmur passed through the Fifth's people far and wide, growing louder as it went. Ideas and knowledge moved from one person to the next faster than the words that carried them, a buzz of unshaped energy and potential.

It did not remain so for long.

At the hands of skilled woodworkers, at the needles of experienced seamstresses, in the hearts of every born seafarer… there these ideas took form.

The ocean called for them, and now, at last, the Fifth's people could answer true.

Nami made her way through the streets in the direction she'd been told the island's best cartographer had his business. Unlike the previous day, she didn't meander about the various stalls looking for good deals, even though she kind of wanted to. Now, she wanted to take a better look at the maps of the northern side. Still, she was observant of her surroundings and quickly cottoned on to a change in the demeanor of the islanders. Maybe it was her fast, purposeful walk, but no-one was quite as… intensely friendly as they had been yesterday. They smiled politely when she made eye contact, some even waved, but none approached her. The difference was small, but it set her on edge.

Or maybe she was being a little paranoid. The memory of the cave was fresh in her mind, and it rather put everything about the island in a different perspective. Even if, logically, the people here today were in no way responsible for what had happened centuries ago.

But would they be the kind of people willing to repeat history, she wondered, unknowingly or otherwise?

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

The bell above the door announced her presence as she entered. The place was well-stocked, and she felt the little thrill she always experienced at the idea of quality mapmakers' supplies. The walls were papered with examples of the cartographer's work, each speaking volumes about the man's skill. He definitely lived up to the reputation he seemed to have.

"Can I help you, missy?" There, at the back of the store was the man himself. His tone was a tad sleazy, but not to the point where Nami was willing to turn right around and leave again. Her respect for him still fell a couple notches, and experience told her it was likely to fall several more before this exchange was over.

"I'm here for supplies and some good maps of the area," she said.

"Oh, interested in cartography, are ya?" He said the word cartography as if it was somehow supposed to impress her, as if she didn't know it. The patronizing sort, then. Wonderful.

"I'm my crew's navigator." That seemed to surprise him at least, but it didn't faze him for long.

"Oho! Talented little thing, you are!" Dear god, this was going to be an uphill battle. If this was his idea of flirting, she instantly pitied every woman to ever come within a ten meter radius of the man.

"Yes, very," she said firmly. "Now, about those maps, if you don't mind?"

Up until that point, she hadn't realized it was possible to dig around shelves in a pretentious way. She knew better now.

"Some of my finest work, these are! Take a good look, missy, and I'll answer any questions you have." Nami did her best to ignore his self-important expression, focusing on the undeniably well-made maps in front of her. They were far more detailed than the ones she had looked at the day before. However… the entire northern side of the island was marked as woodland, with absolutely no other landmarks. The cliff was nowhere to be seen, and the elevations seemed off. She had no way of knowing if the coastline was accurate beyond a certain degree, but she was pretty sure the rocky shore they had found was not where the map claimed it to be. It was like someone had only surveyed the land from afar and had made educated guesses about the rest.

Then again, that's probably exactly what had happened. What she was looking at was someone's best estimate based on what they had seen from a ship, a fair distance out. Not even a mapmaker was willing to explore beyond the cemetery. It left her in the rather interesting position of knowing more about the island than someone who had lived there for their entire life. Moreover, it now seemed she knew more than a man whose very job was to extensively explore and document what he found.

She studied the map a bit closer and found yet another discrepancy. While some of the shore was relatively well mapped out, even where she suspected only far-off observations supplemented by guesswork had been used, there was a stretch of shore on the northernmost coast that didn't quite match the rest in style. It wasn't as detailed, and some of the information given was just plain odd.

It seemed made up.

And if it was made up, that meant the islanders hadn't even brought a ship around the northern side within viewing distance. Out on sea with a spyglass, viewing distance was rather far. And if not the islanders, why not any of the trade ships constantly coming and going? Surely there was someone coming in from the north…

With that in mind, she turned her attention to another map, this one detailing a larger area and tracing the all major and some minor trade routes which involved Merchant Island. There were several which approached from the south, east and west, as well as everywhere in between, but none from due north. In fact, there was an entire expanse of open ocean which no route intersected at any point, even when it looked like it would be the shortest way. One route took a massive detour just to avoid the area.

There was something going on there. Superstition was one thing, but for foreign ships to go out of their way like that? No way was that all there was to it. She glanced at the mapmaker, whose own gaze had strayed down to her chest.

She considered the pros and cons of electrocuting the man. She decided she'd get more information without resorting to it, no matter how appealing the idea was. Pity.

"Oh, how odd!" she exclaimed in an airy tone, shooting for ditsy and ignorant. She'd feed his ego and make him sing like a canary. Tracing a finger through the open zone on the map, she asked, "Why don't the ships just sail through here? Surely that would be so much easier!" Add widened eyes, slightly parted lips, and…

"Ah, you're not from around here, missy, but fortunately I'm an expert on the area."

Hook, line and sinker.

"Oh! It really is my lucky day!" It was just too easy, really. The man had utterly failed to attach any significance to how much her tone had changed.

"I'm highly dedicated to my craft, y'know. I've spent countless hours researching to make my maps as perfect as they can be."

"Wow!" Nami exclaimed, biting back an order to just get on with it already and answer the question. Not that she expected much if his so-called dedication didn't even cover the exploration of his own home island.

"Dangerous job, too. Especially around here," he gestured towards the open area, "where no ship dares to go. I've gone as close as I could, but the currents here are treacherous."

"Really?" Finally, she was getting somewhere.

"It's true, nearly sank my ship. It took everything I knew to get me and my crew out of there."

"Oh my!" Nami made the appropriate impressed sounds, all the while trying to work out whether or not this was somehow linked to the island's superstitions. It was a bit too convenient to be a coincidence…

"At least I was able to return home. Many ships have simply been torn apart. Others have been lost, with no-one ever knowing their fate. Nearly happened to me! I sailed just along the edge, yet found myself straying several kilometers away from my intended route. If I hadn't noticed in time, who knows where we would have ended up!"

Nami tilted her head to the side in a cutesy parody of confusion. "I thought you said you nearly sank?"

"Wha- yes! That was... when we were trying to make our way back."

"Right." That was all she needed to know on that front, but maybe she could still get a bit more out of him. She knew what was out there, but what did the islanders think? "Is that why there's nothing on the northern side of the island? It looks like a good place to expand the town, what with the large market and all..." She was watching him carefully for a reaction, so she caught his posture stiffening slightly.

"...Yes. That too."

"There's another reason?" The man hesitated, so she leaned forward a bit, emphasizing her cleavage. As predicted, his gaze fell down for a moment. It took a few false starts, but he started talking again.

"Listen, missy, the north side is not a good place. But it's nothing you need to worry your sweet little head about, yeah?"

"But what makes it so bad?" she asked, well aware that she was toeing the line between cute whining and annoying whining. The look she received was verging on suspicious, and she knew she wouldn't be able to push him much further.

"It's an evil place. Nothing good can come out of it, and you best stay as far away from it as you can."

Too late.

"Oh gosh, really? And people still live here? You must all be really brave!"

"Of course! This is our home, there's no way we'd give it up," the cartographer said with a swell of nationalistic pride, and Nami wondered how deep and far back it ran… "Besides, we're protected by the spirits of our dead."

Suddenly the layout of the graveyard made sense. It was a barrier after all, but not for the living.

"How nice of them," she hazarded, unsure what kind of response the man was after. Not that it really mattered anymore, she obviously wasn't going to get more than vague descriptions of this terrible evil that supposedly haunted the woods. Best quit while she was ahead. Leaning forward a bit more (and thus silencing whatever it was the man had intended to say next), she moved on to the next map, this one covering an even larger area. She took note of a chain of volcanic islands due east, two of which were marked as active. Merchant Island aligned with them rather perfectly, but was a bit far off to be part of the chain. There was another chain going west, but this one showed no volcanic activity and was even further away. But… the islands did all make a rather neat line.

"Tell me," she said, "is this area prone to earthquakes?"

"Only very minor ones, nothing to be afraid of. Shouldn't so much as trip you up, even with those shoes of yours." Stable area, then, although she had to wonder how long that would last. If she was right, Merchant Island sat directly on top of a fault. Interesting, but as long as the island held together while they were there, of very little consequence.

Having acquired all the information she wanted, it was time to wrap this up. She quickly picked out which maps she wanted to buy, then went for the shelves to get the supplies she needed. Irritatingly, the man decided to follow and started to pester her for what he claimed was a date, but to Nami sounded more like the evening of a low-budget escort. Any free drinks she might be able to get out of it were nowhere near worth it.

"I'm going to be busy. My crew is leaving tomorrow," she told him, with little hope of the message making it through.

"Aw, don't be like that, missy! It'll just be a night of fun, I'm sure your crew will survive."

"I really don't think they will," she muttered with complete sincerity. Offering no further comment, she gathered what she needed and gave the cartographer a pointed look. "I'll be buying these."

"Alright." He named his price (overcharging a bit), and then went right back to pestering. "So, tonight?"

Nami handed him the money, gave her most aggressively polite smile, and said, "I'll see what I can do." Then she turned around and walked away, swaying her hips more than usual. She knew exactly where the man's eyes were focused, which meant he didn't notice that she was leaving with more things than she'd paid for.

Sucker.

Soon, the first ships were finished. They were not quite as grand or reliable as the ship the siblings had built for their sister, but they served their purpose. The waves lapped up against the hulls, striking a steady rhythm, and the creak of wood and twang of rope sang a harmony.

Overhead, silver shadows circled. They were waiting.

And then the sails unfurled, and the wind pushed the ships out into uncharted waters, and finally, finally, the Fifth's people knew they were going home.

Zoro woke up to the sound of Chopper's voice, and was rather annoyed about his nap on deck being interrupted. He had expected everyone would be gone for longer. Welp, the quiet had been nice while it lasted.

Brook was the first one to climb aboard, followed by Chopper and Sanji. Any annoyance Zoro was feeling evaporated when he caught sight of the bandage wrapped around the cook's head, and was immediately replaced with suspicion and alertness.

"Hey, Eyebrows! The hell happened to you?" Zoro frowned when the man failed to respond in any way, from smart-ass comment to so much as a glance. He watched as Chopper led Sanji into the galley and presumably the infirmary, then turned to Brook for an explanation.

"What happened?"

"What indeed…," was the only reply he received.

"Want to expand on that a bit?" Brook finally tore his gaze away from the galley's door and looked at Zoro.

"The bandage is a result of a… slight altercation with the local youth. A group of them decided to try and forcibly drive Sanji-san away, by throwing rocks at him." Zoro blinked.

"Well hell, I would've wanted to see that," he said, suddenly regretting not joining the little expedition. Seeing the cook getting brained with a rock sounded like quality entertainment. But… Brook was giving him some kind of look now. Damn if he wasn't hard to read.

"In any other circumstance I would agree that the scene had a certain comedic value, but now… Now it only seems like yet another cause for concern." Brook paused, as if unsure what to say. "I doubt the wound was serious, but Sanji-san has been acting odd all day. Add that to what we found… well." Zoro waited for him to continue, but it seemed like that wasn't going to happen.

"Do you enjoy being vague? Because if you're really that worried about something, I need to know what it is." If this did turn out to be serious, he'd rather be ready for it.

Brook sighed. "The thing is, Zoro-san, I'm not sure what's going on myself. Robin-san and Chopper-san may be the best ones to offer an explanation, and perhaps Sanji-san. But I don't think even he knows what happened to him today." Zoro narrowed his eyes, but let it go and nodded.

"So then we wait until Robin shows up."

"And the rest, it will be easiest to go through this with everyone present."

"Fine. If that's all, I'm going back to sleep."

And if he was ready to move at a moment's notice, no-one else would ever know.

Onward they sailed, and nothing could compare to the exhilaration of those moments out at sea. More and more ships were built, each with increasing skill, and more of the Fifth's people found their way out on the waves.

Eventually, they returned to land, if only out of necessity. They gathered along the shores, and told each other stories of what they had seen and all they had discovered.

The world was larger than any of them could have imagined.

Robin picked her way through the crowded market. Her trip to the local library had not yielded any results, barring the reinforcement of her earlier observations: Merchant Island avoided documenting its past at all costs. Only the subject of the markets and trade were touched upon beyond the last half-century, and even them in passing. When she'd asked the librarian about it, she'd been met with outright bewilderment, as if the idea of preserving history had never even occurred. As soon as the concept had sunk in, the librarian had made it politely clear that the idea was off-putting to say the least. Robin got the distinct impression the woman meant 'repulsive'. She had then spouted some line which sounded as if it had been ripped straight from a would-be inspirational speech without a thought for its implications, about how one should not dwell on the past and should focus on the future.

If she were any less level-headed, Robin was sure the flash of anger she experienced would have led to something… nasty. It was not really the woman's fault that the island's culture had internalized this strange and probably self-destructive ideology.

But if there was one thing Robin knew, it was that those who forgot history were doomed to repeat it. And what did that say about an island with apparent genocide in its past?

Robin was not an optimist by nature.

A vendor nodded at her as she went past, and she smiled in return. She was fully expecting the sales pitch the young woman launched into, and stayed to listen for a moment out of politeness and mild interest in the scarves being sold. She riffled through the selection, keeping an absentminded ear on the speech about good quality and pricing.

"...And we have more colors available-…" Robin looked up when the girl cut herself off, nervous smile overtaking her previously animated expression. "You… wouldn't happen to be part of the Straw Hat crew, would you?"

Robin kept her expression neutral, but her guard was up and on high alert. "I am. Is there a problem?" she asked mildly.

"Ah, no! I was just… curious is all. Um. Sorry. A-anyway, all of our products are handmade, with great care and excellent attention to detail..." The girl kept going, hiding her nervousness poorly. Robin plastered on a pleasant smile and bought a scarf, hoping to ease any tension she could. Some people around them – locals, notably – were giving them wary glances. No-one could possibly know about that morning, so this was something else. And she had an idea what that might be.

It seemed the village grapevine had been hard at work overnight. Franky's declaration of loyalty from the previous day must have made its way around by now, and already the crew was being viewed differently by association.

No-one had acted aggressively yet, so she doubted she was in any danger. However, it would be best if she finished off her search as quickly as possible.

She moved from stall to stall at a renewed pace, keeping an eye out for anything potentially useful. Since the library was a bust, she needed to follow other avenues of inquiry. Sadly, she had yet to find even a back alley of answers. There were no official archives of any kind. Store owners only kept records of their transactions. How on earth did these people hold on to any kind of national identity?

She paused at a stall selling bits and pieces claiming to ward off all manner of metaphysical harm and mischief.

Superstition. A set of beliefs they all adhered to with religious zeal. In fact to them, it was a religion. And history was full of bloodshed in the name of belief. For many, it was ample reason to set aside all attempts at understanding, to pick up the pitchforks and torches and burn all who dared to think differently.

The pendant weighed in her pocket. Only one person had had anything of the kind, only one person had been so precisely and cruelly murdered. Could she have been a religious leader of some sort? An icon or center of worship? And Sanji… he somehow represented evil to the islanders, who took one look at him and all came to the same conclusion without fail. The tell couldn't be his behavior, however strange it had been this past day, so…

(And goodness, how oddly he had been acting! From locating the cave to whispering words she had barely half-heard not at all understood, Sanji had done nothing but stir up questions.)

Yes, she had a good starting point now. The islanders may not have held on to their history, but their beliefs were another matter. And she knew just where to look. What better place than the tourist shop the bookstore owner had recommended?

The place turned out to be easy to find, though she supposed that was rather the point. The sign outside was certainly the biggest and most eye-catching on the street. The inside was occupied by a veritable army of kitsch, colorful posters hyping the local sights (which amounted to little, although the sheer volume of posters would lead you to think otherwise) and an unholy number of helpful brochures. There were some other customers around, who barely glanced at her when she entered. That suited her just fine, and she began to systematically search the store. Most of the things she found were useless, but there, off to the side was a shelf with some books. They offered (relatively) in-depth knowledge on architecture, trade and cuisine, among others. There were some on luck and how to ensure it, but a quick skim-through turned up nothing. Finally, her gaze caught the title Omens and How to Interpret Them. She flipped through the pages quickly but carefully. No, no, not helpful, no… Ah, wait! Robin went back to the previous page, read through it, and chuckled.

"Oh my..."

But life is not as simple as this.

Despite their newfound footing, the Fifth's people soon realized that not all problems had been solved. The seeds of hurt and bitterness had long since taken root, had flourished into the twisted vines of anger and mistrust. Relations with the Second's people had been strained at their very best, and now with the Guardians' favor they further crumbled under the weight of jealousy.

Yet the blame did not rest solely on the shoulders of those who lived on land. It was the Fifth's people who had thrown their generosity back in their faces, who had spat on even the most kindhearted and well-meaning of gestures. The Fifth's people, too, had allowed animosity to fester. Following generations had taken it aboard without question, continued its cause without ever wondering why.

The wisest on both sides realized the fault belonged to all of them and told of the dangers of supposedly righteous fury.

Their voices were drowned out by the shouts of the very thing they warned against.

Sanji sat through Chopper's examination obediently. He was poked, prodded and interrogated to within an inch of his life, but once it was over Chopper seemed satisfied that death wasn't imminent. It didn't mean the doctor wasn't irritated to hell and back by not finding a definitive cause for Sanji's condition, and he made it clear that on no uncertain terms was Sanji to do anything strenuous for at least the next twenty-four hours, and he was expected to report back to the infirmary every two hours for the rest of the day.

If Sanji had been any less grateful to finally be let out, he might have protested. As it stood, he knew not to press his luck.

So, he decided to use his unexpected free time to try and sort through the events of that morning. And by god was there a lot to unpack.

First off, he'd touched one of the Fish. That had been a Bad Idea, even allowing for the fact that it had been an accident. By simply brushing against one Fish, he'd somehow seen the memories of a man who'd died long ago, all at once, with some flashes of a more general despair thrown in for good measure. Once out of the cave, the memories had kept repeating on a loop in his head, becoming clearer as he processed them. Even now, he could easily summon them to the forefront of his mind (darkdarksomeonesaveme), but the edge had faded. He felt like a viewer now, instead of a participant. It was an improvement.

But how the hell did that work? Was this mystic-memory-sharing something only the dead Fish could do, or all of them? There was only one way to find out, but that option was so far off the table it was probably in orbit. No way in hell was he doing that again. So, no answers on that front.

The next order of business was the whole dead Fish thing. They weren't supposed to be like that, but how it had happened was a mystery. Clearly, it had to do with the massacre and burial, but beyond that he had nothing.

He was starting to spot a pattern here.

Things would be easier if he knew anything about the Fish to begin with.

Finally, there was the matter of all those people. He honestly wanted to get them out of there right this instant, but it wasn't plausible. Even if he managed to rope the rest of the crew into helping, it would be a logistical impossibility. There were too many, too much distance to cover to the shore for each, and not enough space between the trees to bring in wagons. Not to mention how easily such a large-scale operation would be noticed.

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. Sometimes he hated being practical. He knew there was no way to do it, but his heart kept warring with his brain. Surely, it whispered, surely there's something you can do?

But he couldn't. And that disgusted him.

If there is one thing to remember, it is this: the most terrifying aspect of hatred is its ease.

In his office aboard the Ardent, Captain Douglas Fletcher worked his way through a mountain of paperwork with grim determination. He wanted nothing more than to set fire to it all and dance on the ashes, but the world was not so kind. Instead, he prayed for some kind of distraction to find its way to him, despite not believing in any higher power.

There was a knock on his door, and he suddenly wondered if there was something to this religion lark after all.

"Enter," he called, signing one last paper with flourish. A young Marine officer walked in, saluting smartly and stating his news.

"Sir, we just received a call from Merchant Island. Some pirates are causing trouble, and the islanders need our help." Captain Fletcher frowned.

"Merchant Island? Aren't Commander Halstead and his lot closer?"

"They were, sir, until they were designated to escort a noble's ship yesterday."

"We're rather far out. Did they say it was urgent?"

"They want us as soon as possible, sir, although as of their call things had yet to escalate too much."

"Alright. Set a course for Merchant Island. We'll make it there sometime tomorrow morning if we sail through the night."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"And before you go, did they tell you who our troublemakers are?"

"The Straw Hat crew, sir. Black-Leg in particular."

"Thank you. Dismissed." The officer left quickly to carry out his orders. Captain Fletcher pushed his paperwork aside with barely restrained glee to make room for his maps.

The Straw Hat pirates were a new but profoundly irritating thorn in the World Government's side. Taking them into custody would certainly put him in the Navy's good books. Now, where had he put…?

He nearly jumped when a sheaf of bounty posters was set on his desk. He'd forgotten about the other man in the room. He worked so damned quietly.

"Thought you might be looking for these, Captain. The Straw Hat bounties."

"Yes, thank you, Cull." Miro Cull nodded, but did not head back to his own desk as expected. "Was there something you wanted?" Fletcher had trouble reading the other man. He wasn't a Marine officer, but rather an archivist (or record-keeper or possibly librarian) who worked for the World Government and was often left in charge of their files. He was aboard the Ardent to sort through the disorganized wilderness that was their paperwork. Fletcher privately wished him luck.

"You're going to challenge the Straw Hats, Captain?" Cull asked in a mildly curious tone. Fletcher blinked at the slightly odd phrasing.

"Yes. That's the mission we've been given. Why?"

"No reason, sir. Just curious. I've heard they're fearless."

"I'd say 'spectacularly foolish', but to each their own."

"Yes sir." Cull held eye contact for a few seconds, then turned around and went back to his desk. Fletcher shook his head. He'd long since given up understanding the inner workings of Cull's mind. They had to be strange, if the man willingly spent so much time around paperwork.

But right now that was irrelevant. He had some pirates to catch.

A/N: Oh god I do not deserve such patient and understanding readers! You guys put up with so much delay...

I think we're reaching a point where a coherent plot is starting to emerge. Who'da thunk it? Certainly not me. Least of all me. This story may actually go somewhere! And it's only taken some 45,000+ words. Huh.

Also, all in favor of a support group for Sanji fans after the latest chapters, say aye. Christ.