I don't like sand.
It's coarse.
And rough.
And irritating.
And it gets everywhere.
Then, why did I decide to station myself in a Yuba, a town located on the outer ridges of Alabasta, which was built on what was aptly named the Sandy Island?
It's simple, really.
Like really simple.
Stupidly simple.
The Kuzan from my vague and ever-decreasing memories of his life abhorred it too. I've no clue what's caused the sudden fracture of memories, but trying to remember more than a vague picture of specific things started to become impossible at some point. It felt like grasping at straws. Despite of this, his detest of sand was something firmly implanted, to the degree that he actually let the people around him know, which was a rarity.
So, if they started searching, they probably wouldn't come to look for me here, right?
It also helped that the state of the country was something predictable, where I had knowledge that the ruling family wouldn't make matters troublesome for some stupid reason. Regardless of this, I didn't want to take the chance and stay too close to the capital either, on the off chance that someone knew Kuzan well enough to connect my current undignified appearance to the legendary Admiral Aokiji.
I didn't have much else to go on in choosing a location, truth be told.
However, despite my uneasiness, other than dressing in somewhat concealing clothing, I didn't go out of my way to act a certain way to avoid attention. While I'm sure a lot of people would argue that the key to hiding was to avoid any and all notice, I personally found the plan naïve. Obviously suspicious and isolated behavior only required one mishap to be in jeopardy, whereas someone who acted as themselves in an environment they were meant to be in much easier went under the radar.
If you wanted to infiltrate a marine base, you can enlist as a soldier, or a scientist involved with their arms development. In the same vein, I was a vagabond without much of a goal or aim, traveling and settling down based on my own interests.
Nothing unordinary.
As for my current resting place, I happened to come across someone willing to house me without asking too many questions. As of right now, it should be about two weeks since I started living here. It also helped that I found the pair of father and daughter pleasant to be around. There should have been a boy too, apparently, but I hadn't seen him yet.
Speaking of said missing son…
"So, sir Ao, if you could help me look around the city for my son, I would be in your debt. Please!"
Such was the plea of a worried parent.
We were speaking in his office. Messy and out of shape it may have been, it was still the best place in the house to converse. The sky had turned dark a few hours ago, right around the time when Sofia went to sleep for the day.
Thorpe Morn had seen better days, rarely was this fact as apparent as it was today.
His skin was pale as snow, with his hair disheveled, falling off in noticeable quantities in patches surrounding his head. Ragged clothes clung to his body, a hunched and skittish figure revealing his insecurities and worries for the world to see.
"I-I don't think he wants to see me, or hear much from me at all. But I've heard some unsavory rumors surrounding him and his current companions and I just… can't sit still any longer," Thorpe grimly remarked.
I of course had an inkling to the situation Thorpe found himself in, but I could do no more than pay the man handsomely for the hospitality, 'lest I wish to lose the life of a vagabond, and be forced to flee. Major actions would leave ripples.
It was aggravating.
Thorpe's eyes momentarily left his feet and briefly met with my own. "I know- I know… that you are a guest and have no obligation to help. But, I'm at my wits end running around on my own… I haven't seen him in over two weeks."
Thorpe's brows furrowed as he forced out the next few words, "If you're not willing, I've saved up some money… in case of emergencies. It's not mu-"
"No, no. That's not necessary." I interrupted.
This. This I could help with.
Thorpe's face lit up, seemingly surprised.
"Garm, was it?" I murmured, "Do you have something that can help me identify him?"
Thorpe quickly scrambled to a nearby withering wooden desk, which was worn by time and misuse. From one of its four compartments, he pulled out a stack of a dozen papers.
Overcome with emotion, Thorpe explained its contents, "Yes! Garm had a passion drawing in his developing years, he was quite skilled at it too! He drew several portraits of our family, both as a whole and separately!" he then deflated, not unlike a balloon stung by a needle, "…never his sister though, he also stopped drawing my wife after… too."
I took the heap of papers, slowly sifting through the bunch.
They were similar, father and son. A younger, healthier version of the man I conversed with painted the pages in my hands, head full of rich black hair.
Seeing the melancholic air hanging around Thorpe's head, I gave a small nod, leaving him behind to search for his wayward son through the night.
One night, about a month after Juro started working at the tavern "Shady Retreat", a large crowd of spirited customers arrived mere moments just before it was supposed to close. It was a rare occurrence for such a big group to arrive this late into the evening. Working at the counter, he knew his numbers. Making a quick headcount, the number of newly arrived visitors entered the twenties.
Juro peered at the single other occupant behind the bar, Furuya, his boss and owner of the establishment, a middle-aged chubby man with dark brown hair.
Juro knew his boss to be an extremely stingy character, always trying to shortchange him with his paychecks.
Which was why his next words and actions caught him off guard as much as it did.
"The Vipers," Juruya sneered, "Don't charge anything."
Not given the order to kick the patrons out as he had expected, but instead be told to offer their services for free, it took him a good few second to actually process the words.
Juro had been born and raised in a civilian family, who all enjoyed stress free lives as subordinates instead of owners. As such, none who he knew personally had to deal with the infamous four ruling gangs which held a chokehold on the city of Yuba.
Their names, however, had been taught to him early on.
They weren't to be offended.
Still, even amongst them, there was one group who was widely regarded as viler than the rest.
Quick to anger, both cruel and sadistic.
That would be The Vipers.
Juro was sure this hadn't been mentioned while negotiating his recruitment. Not that he had asked that many questions, stable work was hard to come by, after all. He had thought it a relatively safe place to work too, there were remarkably little skirmishes.
Now he knew why.
Not many were foolhardy enough to step on the viper's tail.
As they filled in the now cramped little tavern, kicking and slapping the frail wooden furniture without thought in their humor, he tried to steel his heart for the coming hours.
In spite of this, his erratic footsteps toward the entourage easily exposed his nerves to anyone actually looking at him.
He did find some comfort though, pitiful though it may be.
It came from the fact that he definitely wasn't the one having the worst time in this room. One look at the haggard black-haired teen acting as the gang's pack-mule was enough to decide that.
His day must've been shit.
Today was shit.
Garm felt this thought came far too often for his liking recently.
Being pulled and kicked around each day every day was starting to grow old. After painstakingly proving himself to a higherup in The Vipers, he thought his life was going to change for the better.
Instead, he found no respect, no comrades and no opportunity to rise into any position of power within the organization. He had joined the most infamous of the groups, intent on reigning control over the shop his father governed.
Leaving wasn't an option. They knew his personal life, including his family for whom he…
Cared for.
Immensely.
Truth be told, he had been antagonistic the first year following his sister's birth. The following year he had actually mellowed out greatly, but his stupid childish pride didn't allow him to close the rift. At some point around her third birthday, it hurt to even look at her, but for all the wrong reasons.
His mother met an extremely untimely demise, this was something which he had struggled to accept years after its occurrence. Which was why when he found out that his sister was on track to become a carbon copy of her, all sorts of complicated emotions emerged inside him, which he didn't know how to deal with at all.
He felt he had dug himself too deep, and so, he decided to keep going down in an effort to come out on top on the other side.
Now though, situation being what it was, it was surprisingly easy to be honest with himself.
He had inwardly justified the trouble he put his father into for many years now, but now faced with a seemingly dead end, it was clear that he was just running away.
That was the reality.
A pathetic one, by anyone's standards.
Resigned, Garm huddled up in one of the corners of the bar, forcefully keeping both his eyes and ears open should any of the members call him to perform commands.
Then, while alert, heavy steps sounded from the path outside. The door creaked open, its rusty hinges almost breaking from the pressure. The figure, taking the first steps into the tavern made the floorboards groan. The room immediately turned quiet in response.
Garm felt his jaw go slack in surprise. The newcomer was the tallest person he'd ever seen, his head scraping the ceiling as he rose to his full form.
The figure was dressed in inconspicuous clothes, some baggy dark cloth-work with a beanie and sunglasses adorning his head, his afro leaking in lumps around the back.
The barkeep, a young man probably not many years Garm's senior, raised his hand and called to the figure. "Sir, anything I can help you with?"
The figure nonchalantly looked around, scanning the faces of the people within. Garm could have sworn his look lingered on himself a few seconds longer than the rest, but he was probably only imagining things. He had nothing to warrant any such interest.
"…Sure, hand me a drink. Any drink," the tall figure answered.
He sat down on one of the benches, one of the few things in the room able to seat him, and didn't make much noise until he thanked the young barkeep as he arrived with his beverage, which was a staple in the area, nothing uncommon.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, the general noise in the room increased again, reaching its earlier levels, and then some.
Garm kept a close eye on the newcomer. While he didn't look out to do any trouble, it nevertheless remained his job to be on the lookout. Once again, in the few moments he looked away, he could have sworn he felt the mans gaze turn to him, analyzing him.
At this point, however, he couldn't be bothered to think too much about it. The setting allowed him to introspect, instead, something which he hadn't been able to lately because of how ruthlessly they were ordering him around.
This wasn't what he wanted. Not even close.
He idolized strength, power and control. The Vipers seemed to embody them, so he sought them out.
And this was where that led him.
Making sure a couple of run of the mill low lives were able to drink in peace.
Fuck.
He'd laugh if it happened to someone unrelated to him.
He wasn't that nice of a person.
Couldn't be, willingly going into this trade.
Still, it sucked being in the middle of it all.
Shaken from his reverie by some sudden noise, he moved his gaze to the sound.
Some of the rowdier members of the group were making movements toward the stranger. It was well into the night, so they'd had ample time to build up their courage with alcohol. Their steps were shaky, but determined.
They went as a group of five, exterior friendly, but their eyes betrayed their intentions.
Disregarding. Malicious. Ambitious.
Garm had seen this scene before, the aptly named act of "aggressively recruiting". Not everyone had to go through the hurdles he had to join. The difference was his was voluntary, whereas the people scouted rarely had a say in the matter. The recruiters got a bonus based on what kind of people they managed to drag in. Emboldened by the beverages, their caution must have run out. It wasn't often people refused either, their track record further waning any reservations about staying in their lane. The last one to decline ended up a dead man. Most of the time any confrontation was done without much of a hassle. His painfully sober gut however was telling him this was not going to be one of them.
Despite this, Garm didn't even consider looking away, a morbid curiosity taking root in his mind.
Though stumbling, their walk eventually came to a stop in front of the unknown man. "Stranger, are you affiliated with any gang?" one of the men asked.
The stranger didn't answer, despondently staring at the bottom of the now empty cup in front of him, seemingly contemplating something.
"Is that a no?" the man repeated impatiently.
Finally, the unknown man gave a reaction. Turning his broad and big body to face the men. "…I have some bothersome ties, but I'm not connected to a local gang, no." he finished, a small smile taking place on his lips, as if in on a joke only he would understand.
Regaining his momentum, the man asked, "Then, have you heard about The Vipers?"
The stranger seemed to consider something, "A thing or two."
"Then, do you know what this is?"
"More or less."
"Then…?" The recruiter leaned over the table, smile widening.
"No thanks."
The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, as if storm was gathering. Garm knew such a remark wouldn't fly. It would come to blows.
And that it did. The Vipers' reputationwas well earned. If nothing else this proved as much.
No sooner than a moment after the rejection was given, the recruiter threw the first punch.
Garm, hyper focused on the situation as he was, saw that the movement hadn't gone unnoticed by the tall stranger, yet he chose not to dodge.
It didn't make sense.
Until it did.
Contact was made, a snap was heard, a scream resounded.
Yet it did not come from the stranger.
The recruiters arm bent at an unnatural angle, with the fingers even worse off.
Garm only saw bits of the ensuing "fight", forced to hide under a table to escape the notice from the onslaught of drunk gang members rising up in anger against the stranger. He didn't want to provide them with another target to lash out their frustration against, as they had done several times in the past. Grunts and yells, broken arms and ribs. Mustering his courage, he stood up to get a better view and he saw-
Power.
This.
This was what he wanted.
A slap. Brush of a hand. Or just standing still.
It was an effortless stance, without care nor worry, but it all ended with downed enemies around him.
Seeing the unbothered figure of the stranger, the loyalty of the few remaining members evaporated. This wasn't a winning battle, even their drunk-addled mind was capable of reaching that conclusion. They ran in a hurry, stumbling and pushing each other down in an effort to get ahead.
Garm was entranced.
Every detail. He wanted to catch them all.
As he heard the last tiny scream slump down unconscious on the ground, he was taken back to reality, once again made aware he was within walking distance of a being capable to putting down what he once thought of as a considerable fighting force without any effort.
The man then caught sight of Garm. His eyes scrunched up for a few seconds, as if annoyed. "Boy," he called. "Come sit," he called once more.
With great caution and trepidation, he did just that.
After a brief detour to the half-wrecked bar, he sat down together with Garm, putting two different bottles down. The expensive kind, he numbly noted. He shed his beanie and sunglasses, too.
His mind was a hot mess, he couldn't imagine it getting any worse.
"I was sent here by your father."
It got worse.
"Wha-Ho-Wh?!"
"Drink first," the stranger interrupted.
"…That's not recommended for someone my age." Garm weakly protested, if only to cling to some semblance of normalcy.
He met his gaze. "Has that stopped you before?" He raised an eyebrow, if it was knowing or actually curious, I couldn't tell.
Garm looked away. "No."
"Then," he raised one of the bottles, prompting Garm to do the same. No glass was in sight, and as Garm was starting to look for one, he opened the bottle and started drinking from it directly.
"Huh." Garm scoffed at the absurdity of it all, and followed suit.
After a sizeable chug, they both dropped the bottles.
"I go by Ao." The man now named Ao introduced himself.
"Garm. But you probably already knew that." He said in turn.
He looked at me for a few seconds, considering, before nodding softly.
"So," the older male started.
"Why are you messing about with these morons?"
The question stumped him, with how direct it was.
"…Revenge." He muttered, the wind already out of his sails.
He'd heard a lot of people say that revenges leave someone incomplete, devoid of meaning after its completion.
He believed them to be wrong. The people spouting such lies were those who never managed to dig the blade deep enough in the neck of their enemies.
The gang in charge of his fathers' shop had wronged him, his family, and made an already difficult home to navigate several times worse.
The rest of the world could burn, it had done him no good.
But family was family. Everyone else… was everyone else.
As it apparently was someone his father sent after him, he expected to be lectured.
Ao did no such thing however, merely letting out a lazy "Ha," sound.
It seemed he didn't think it a bad idea? His now drunk mind was grasping at straws, when he came up with an idea.
"Can you train me?"
Perhaps he could gain a big benefactor.
"No."
He was shot down.
Emboldened by alcohol and frustrated he kept trying.
"Why?"
He tried to negotiate.
"I don't like you."
He was shot down, again.
He deflated.
"…Then, why are you here?" Garm asked.
"Because I admire your father, and your sister is pleasant enough to be around," Ao grunted. "And because of the trouble you're creating for both of them without anything to show for it."
That was fair… he supposed.
"Though… while I won't train you, I can share some rudimentary experiences in getting stronger. This bo- my body remembers it well enough," Ao petered off, "I get annoyed just looking at you being so useless."
Ouch.
His pride hurt, but he was long past refusing any kind of help.
Ao looked down at his body, seemingly reminiscing about a distant past, "Punish yourself, then indulge yourself, after which you intoxicate yourself. Make improving yourself an addiction. All at once, you need to be a masochist, narcissist, and an addict."
It was… vague. But he managed to make sense of it.
"As long as you stay at your house, I can… watch over and encourage you, I suppose." Ao painfully forced out, looking as unhappy as I had ever seen him after having finished his sentence.
It was a chance. An olive branch stretched out that had the potential to get his life on the right track again.
But…
"That's... my sister and father…"
Ao's face scrunched up.
"I really don't like you. Just come home, you're making it far more complicated than it has to be. Your father will welcome you back with open arms while apologizing as if he's the only one in the wrong." Ao continued, getting somewhat heated.
It looked uncharacteristic of the man, and Ao even seemed surprised by himself, but he had drunk quite a lot throughout this whole evening, and continued on.
"And your sister will too, treat her as a decent brother for four to six months and she will probably forget every bad thought surrounding you. She's at that age. Once she grows older, she's going to treat her family like poop floating down a river. Treasure it."
And now he was just ranting, Garm felt.
But what he said made sense.
Well, most of it.
Releasing a heavy breath, Ao calmed down. "For now, go back and live at your house. Focus on improving your body, and help out whenever possible."
"As for these clowns," Ao gestured to the bodies on the floor. "Do as I did tonight. Don't punch down, don't punch up…"
He met my gaze.
"Punch back."
And so the slovenly and o-so ambiguous journey continues. Let me know what you think. Reviews, favs and follows greatly appreciated.