Chapter 1

"Clack."

I glanced to my left, where a pen had just rolled of off the counter, pushed over the edge by the gentle breeze coming from the store's window. Keeping my place in the book on my lap with my index finger, I leaned over, picking it up and placing it in a cup under the counter.

I sighed, using the pause in my reading to roll my neck. I had been sitting behind the counter for at least three hours by this point, just reading. I had already straightened the merchandise, cleaned the floor, and counted the drawer. Twice. And I hadn't seen a single customer.

Outside the window, across the beach, the ocean's waves lapped gently against the shore before retreating back out to the sea. The sun was high in the sky, occasionally hiding behind the puffy white clouds cruising through. Even the birds were calm, seemingly content to bob on the water, enjoying what looked to be a perfect day.

Such a shame that it was going to waste.

Word had come from the docks that a pirate ship had been spotted offshore and was making its way to our tiny island village. The people of Aurora had run back to their homes and shops, shuttering their windows and locking their doors.

Gene, the owner of the store, had simply come to the backroom, where I was doing inventory and reorganizing our stock (and complaining about all the shit he purchased that we were never ever going to sell), and told me to get out front.

Compared to my brothers I was rather unassuming. I was large for a woman sure, standing at roughly 6'3" and weighing over 240 pounds, but aside from my size, there was little to make me stand out. I had black hair, which I typically kept up in a braid or bun, sepia skin, and amber eyes. I dressed simply in jeans, boots, and button downs with the sleeves rolled up. More often than not my clothes were covered by an apron.

Look a little harder and my more… unique features jumped out at you. Up close, it was easier to see the scars littered across my body, varied in size and age. Some were small barely-there things, only noticeable, because they were bolder due to their recency. A slipped box cutter, a broken glass, a tussle with one of my brothers. Others were larger but faded with time, like the uneven ones that wrapped around my throat and wrists or the line that started just beneath my left nostril and traveled down over my lip to my chin.

Only a few people ever got that close. My brothers were responsible for a scar or two. They wore similar reminders of our spats and hijinks. Gene, only took notice of them when he was drunk, comparing them to his own scars from his younger days as a marine. And Rayne, my landlady/boss at the tavern, who had practically raised me since I first showed up on Aurora.

The rest of the village kept their distance. Auora wasn't exactly the most welcoming place. Newbies were met with skepticism and scorn.

I had the distinct disadvantage of being dropped off by a group of troublemakers, covered in fresh wounds and scars, already taller than most of the people in the village. Rumors, that still followed me to this day two decades later, started spreading instantly. I was a delinquent, a freak, a monster.

If I was being honest, they weren't entirely wrong. But their views of me weren't based on anything meaningful. They knew nothing of where I had come from or what I had been through. It all came from my battered appearance at the time and the fact that I had a devil fruit.

Devil fruits were so rare in the four blues that most people didn't even believe that they existed. And there I was with the Demon Demon Fruit: Model Balor[1].

I couldn't even remember who had mentioned it. One of my brothers when he was younger and dumber, too stupid to realize the impact that his words would have or even the fact that anyone might dare be listening to him.

It felt as if even in my human form, the average villager could still feel the fruit's energy. Just the knowledge of my fruit put people on edge, causing the hair on the back of their neck to stand up. The rumors that resulted were great for deterring would-be crooks from attacking the store or the tavern. However, it made village life a pain in the ass.

I made it a point to stick to myself for the most part. That way the villagers could go about their days without fear, and I could be left in relative peace.

The bell over the door chimed.

I glanced over, expecting to see one of Gene's fishing buddies coming through. Not even the devil himself would keep Gene and his friends from sitting around and gabbing.

Instead, I was met with faces that I had only ever seen on wanted posters before in the newspaper. They were far more interesting.

I closed my book and sat up straight. "Hello. Welcome to Gene's General Supply," I greeted in my best customer service voice. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

One of the men looked over, offering a small smile. "Just looking for now. Our captain and the first mate will be here soon, and they're going to want to fill out an order."

I nodded, surprised by his pleasant disposition. "If you need help with anything just let me know."

I relaxed my posture a bit and glanced out the window again, checking on my patrons occasionally. They weren't causing any trouble, so I let them be.

The bell chimed again, signaling new arrivals. I smiled at them, welcoming them to the store and telling them where I could be found if they needed any help. They gave me their thanks, both grinning at me – one a small smirk around his cigarette, the other a wide toothy thing.

I was a bit caught off guard by their polite behavior. Generally, local people were too afraid to speak to me, let alone to be nice. While it wasn't surprising that this particular group wasn't afraid (a shop keeper in the West wasn't going to faze hem in the slightest), I hadn't expected them to have the decency to use their manners (if they even had any to begin with).

The pleasantries were novel if nothing else. It had been years, since I had this type of casual interaction with anyone aside from Rayne, Gene or my siblings. It was honestly kind of refreshing. I was used to having to constantly placate the people around me, making myself as nonthreatening as possible for their comfort.

The crew continued to walk around, eyeing different items, and comparing prices. After about fifteen or twenty minutes of discussion, they finally approached me, with the two late arrivals at the front of the pack.

"Excuse me, miss?"

I perked up, my attention now on the man standing on the side of the counter, Benn Beckman. "Yes?"

"Would it be possible for us to place an order?" he asked.

I lifted the clip board in my hand. "I was waiting for it," I said.

"Finally, someone a step ahead of you, Benn."

My eyes shifted to Red-Haired Shanks. He wasn't quite what I expected. His size, the sharp cut of his jaw, stubble on his chin, and visible scars betrayed the idea of the youthful "brat" that I had heard about. At the same time, he was relaxed and open, nothing like the dark, dangerous, intense man in the wanted posters. If I hadn't already seen images of him before (or heard about the scars across his eye or his brightly colored hair), I wouldn't have made the connection to the infamous pirate.

"Be careful, or I'm gonna have her remove all the booze you order," Beckman threatened.

"No, you won't. There'd be a riot," Red Hair said.

Beckman was quick to argue his captain's point. "And at the center of it would be you."

"No respect." Red Hair shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. "You know a less generous captain would have you killed for such mutinous words."

Beckman rolled his eyes. "Generous," he said in a deadpan.

"Generous, huh? Should I be expecting a generous tip, once I get your order all put together, Captain Shanks?" I asked.

That caused Red Hair to shoot me a cheeky grin. "I see my reputation precedes me."

I shrugged. "What can I say? News travels fast and far, and you've created quite a stir. First pirate captain I've heard of with such a ridiculous hair color," I teased.

"I like her," Beckman said.

"Which doesn't bode well for me," Red Hair grumbled, his expression not faltering at all.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I still want a tip, so I won't be too hard on you."

The conversation between us flowed easily. Their light-hearted ribbing drew a few chuckles from me as I wrote up their order.

"So, Miss…" Shanks trailed of, seeming to just now realize that he didn't know my name.

"Elizabeth," I supplied.

"Miss Elizabeth," he repeated. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

I scoffed, not bothering to look up as I continued to add up their total. "I'm not cutting you a deal, so don't bother trying to sweet talk me."

"But will it get you to tell me where we can get a drink around here?"

That gave me pause. I looked up at Shanks, giving him a look up and down, trying to determine how exactly I should answer.

"There's a tavern in the village," I replied after a second. "But I wouldn't get my hopes up about getting a drink," I warned. "Owner's not too fond of pirates. She's got no patience for them. First time you piss her off, she'll have you out on your ass."

Last time that a crew had come to the tavern, Rayne had called me in to kick them out.

"I think we'll be fine. I can be very disarming," Shanks said, leaning on the counter and turning up the charm.

I snorted. "Really? Cause it looks to me like you've been disarmed."

Benn let out a loud laugh at that.

"You wound me," Shanks said, sounding almost delighted by my jab.

"Clearly, I'm not the only one."

I turned my clipboard around and pointed at the total at the bottom circled in red. Shanks took the clipboard, eyes trailing over it, before handing it off to Benn.

Shanks pulled out a bag of berries. "Hit my pride and then my wallet."

"A job well done if I do say so myself."

[1] In Irish mythology, Balor or Balar was a leader of the Fomorians, a group of malevolent supernatural beings. He is often described as a giant with a large eye that wreaks destruction when opened. Balor takes part in the Battle of Mag Tuired, and is primarily known from the tale in which he is killed by his grandson Lugh of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He has been interpreted as a personification of the scorching sun, and has also been likened to figures from other mythologies, such as the Welsh Ysbaddaden and Greek Cyclops. Elizabeth's devil fruit is loosely based off of Balor from Irish Mythology.

Author's Note:

So if you've read Stillwater, then you know that I've been talking about this Shanks fic for a while now. It's got a different name than what I originally said, but this is it. Enjoy and let me know what you think. Also forgive me, because the first few chapters are going to feel a bit repetitive, until I really get the dynamics and everything down.