Well, here we finally are at the next arc, with new characters, new villains, and a new story. Hopefully it'll be just as good as the last.
One Piece: The Skull Pirates
Chapter Eighteen: Mysteries Abound! Adventure in the Rainbow Archipelago!
"Yo. Drake."
The merman didn't open his eyes, concentrating on his training – or at least trying to, anyway, however futilely. You'd think he'd have caught on after a few days onboard.
The sound of snapping fingers disturbed what should have been calm, tranquil darkness. "C'mon man, I know you're not dead. Is talking to me that annoying?"
Sighing inwardly, Drake bid farewell to the spiritual depths and opened his eyes. "You wanted to talk to me, Jack?"
The skull pirate grinned. "Was it that obvious?" He jabbed a thumb behind him. "C'mon; you've been here more than a day, so it's about time I show you around."
Drake raised an eyebrow. "I've been getting around fine until now. I don't really need a tour."
He didn't close his eyes again, however. A moment passed as Jack folded his arms, tapping a finger against one of them.
Finally Drake sighed. "You're not going to leave me alone until I agree, are you?"
"Nope."
"Alright, then, lead the way."
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Jack first led Drake to a wide room on the main deck, placed in-between the stairs leading upward. "This is the mess hall," he said while swinging the door open, "not that I need to tell you that, of course."
Drake nodded as they walked in. "It seems a bit excessive for a ship so small, but as you said, this used to be a marine ship."
"Hey, can't beat it for room." Jack shrugged. "Besides, we'll be getting more crewmates: at least five or six."
The skull pirate pointed near the door, to the sturdy-looking handle set into the wood flooring. "That's the tiller there. You two have gotten pretty familiar, I think."
Drake nodded again. "Right: especially since you recruited me just to push it back and forth."
"…oh yeah, forgot to mention. Mary and Gerald are pathological liars. You can just ignore anything they say."
"Actually, they said you might say that."
Jack shut up, walking toward the back of the room. "Now, these are the kitchens. We don't have a cook yet, but we can handle our own meals well enough…without any fires, at least. It's honestly pretty hi-tech – there's some stuff in there I've never even seen before."
Drake opened the door and looked in. It was an equally wide room, equipped with an oven, sink, and several kitchens. There was even a dishwasher, a rarity among ships. Various cub-boards were around, no doubt containing ingredients, and a pantry door was near the back.
Nodding, the merman closed the door. "Well, I hope we have enough fish."
"…that was a joke, right?"
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The second Jack led Drake to was the sole one on the upper stern, directly above the mess hall. The railing before the door formed a pseudo-balcony, allowing someone a view of virtually the entire deck – being in charge gave you certain aesthetic perks.
"Now, this is my room. The captain's quarters, the leader's lair, the sultan's suite, if you will."
Drake looked around at the sights before him. There were so many things to note that he decided to just go for general terms.
"It's kind of a pig-sty, Jack. I take it you don't like cleaning up after yourself?"
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Gee, that's a pretty interesting tone to take with your captain…and anyway, I'm used to my rooms looking like this. It'd probably make me less comfortable if I kept 'em neat."
Drake stared. A fly buzzed past his ear. "…I see."
"Anyway…" Jack waved a hand at the room. "There's my bed, and right next to it's my desk, where I do all my important work."
"…of course."
The pirate jabbed a thumb at the large map hanging over the back wall. "That was a lucky find – a map of the entire West Blue, so easy even an idiot could read it!"
Drake decline to comment: blatant rudeness was frowned on in Umi no Kenusers, and the only possible responses certainly fell under that.
"Oh yeah, we're gonna be having a meeting in the mess hall after lunch, to readjust our course. Just to let you know."
Jack then indicated the book-cases on either side. "These are the captain's books, for use in my captainly duties. Very important for them, they are."
Drake opted not to comment on that. "Why are some of the holes circles?" He said, pointing at one of them.
Jack looked uncomfortable. "Well, uh…the previous captain had different ways of making himself productive than me."
The merman martial artist raised an eyebrow, before sniffing, using his heightened senses. He nodded after a moment. "Ah, I see."
"I make a point of not touching that stuff, just to let you know." Jack nodded decisively.
"You don't really seem to need it."
Jack frowned at the comment before continuing. "This isn't the only little 'feature' to make tipping back more convenient that I've found, either. Kinda disgraceful, considering this used to be a marine ship."
Drake paused, and then chuckled slightly. "Sorry – it was just weird, seeing you with an opinion like that."
His captain raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I'll have you know I can be high-class about a lot of things." He looked around. "Besides, I rest way happier knowing my room is free of potential explosives, thanks."
"I can't say I'd mind much, either."
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"Okay now, this is Gerald's room. You better get ready, by the way, 'cause these guys tend to be doing some pretty weird stuff whenever I walk in."
Drake cocked an eyebrow. "Mary doesn't seem to be that odd."
"She's a girl. Besides, you haven't seen that plant fetish she has…anyway." He pushed open the door without knocking, and instantly sighed. "Yeah, see what I mean?"
Gerald looked up and smiled. "Jack, Drake – I didn't hear you two coming." He lied cheerfully. "Excuse me if I don't invite you two in, but I'm busy, as you can see."
Various objects had been strewn about in specific patterns, transforming the inside of the nobleman's room into a…golf course? Yes, in as far as some books, mugs, and other implements could form proper obstacles for the sport. Gerald lay astride them like a contortionist, hands clutching a golf club that he was hesitantly drawing back and forth. The ball rolling with the deck probably didn't help, despite his efforts to clamp it between two paperweights.
While the merman watched, not quite sure how to react, Jack tapped a finger against one arm irritably. "Yeah, I do. How long have you been at this, exactly, Gerald?"
"Oh, couldn't be more than a few hours. Really helps to keep the mind active, having a hobby. You should try it some time, Captain."
"Just being in charge of this ship's enough of one, thanks." Jack muttered under his breath.
"Hm?"
"Oh, nothing. I was just showing Drake around the ship." He jabbed a thumb at the merman. "Getting him acquainted y'know?"
"Ah, surprisingly sensible of you, Captain." Gerald murmured, leaning back for a shot and thinking better of it. "You're one of the crew now, Drake, so it's a good idea to get familiar here."
Drake bowed. "Thank you, I appreciate that."
Gerald's eyes narrowed as he looked down the shaft's length. "Oh, don't mention it. Did you two need anything important?"
"Yeah," said Jack, "we're gonna have a meeting about our present course, and whether or not to change it. Right after lunch, assuming you can't drag yourself away from this game of epic proportions."
With that he closed the door, starting down the hallway to the next occupied room. Only a moment after, there was an audible clatter from Gerald's domicile.
"Ha ha, hole in one!"
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"Okay, this is Frank's room. Huh – now that I think of it, you two haven't spoken that much, have you?"
Drake nodded. "I got the impression that he was a bit nervous of me, and still is. It's understandable; not many of us hang around humans for very long, so they don't much chance to get used to us."
"Yeah," Jack said, scratching his forehead, "maybe they don't have mermen on his island. He doesn't talk about it much, so I guess anything's possible.
Raising his hand, the skeleton knocked on the door. Nothing happened for a moment. Frowning, Jack knocked out.
"…ah, you can come in." came Frank's voice from the other side, sounding more timid than usual.
Offering Drake a shrug, Jack pushed it open and entered. In contrast to the other members, the shinobi's room was completely bare aside from the bed, desk, bookcase and wardrobe – even the baser possessions of the previous occupant had been moved, and now lay in a respectful pile in the corner.
One thing the room also lacked at the moment was Frank himself…at least until Jack turned his gaze upward.
"H-hello there, Captain," said Frank, his mask somehow looking sheepish, "a pleasant day we're having, isn't it?"
Jack didn't reply for a moment, blinking several times to process what he was seeing. Even Drake looked mystified.
Finally, the Skull Pirate just sighed. "You know, Frank, this is a question I never thought I'd have to ask, and I grew up in the Grand Line: why are you on the ceiling?"
The shinobi adjusted his mask and shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Well, it's a part of my training, Captain, and as you know, I prefer to keep a rigorous schedule, but-"
"Just spit it out, Frank."
"Um…" Frank looked away. "I can't get down."
Jack's hand quickly rose to meet his face. "Okay, alright, that's a legitimate…concern. Just say calm, Frank, and I'll figure out some way to-"
He blinked as Drake silently stepped forward, grabbed Frank around the arms gently, and turned the shinobi right-way around before depositing him on his feet.
Frank bowed. "You have my gratitude, Drake-san."
"Don't mention it." the merman replied with a casual shrug.
"...or we could do that: seems to work just as well." Jack said vaguely. It was probably just his imagination, but when Drake had grabbed Frank, it seemed like the shinobi's body had tightened up slightly - weird.
The skull pirate nodded. "Okay, problem solved. Just...be more careful when you're standing on the ceiling, okay Frank?"
"Of course, Captain."
Jack nodded. "Alright, then. We're gonna have a meeting in the mess hall after lunch, Frank, to decide about our course."
"Alright, I shall see you then, Captain." Frank said with another bow.
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Now the two were at the third door. Jack waved a hand at it, expression turning serious. "Last but not least, this is Mary's room." he said, adopting a slightly grim tone. "Piece of advice, Drake; one thing you have to make sure of is to never-"
The door opened. Drake blinked – with speed that even master martial artists would envy, Jack had swiveled to face the wall.
Mary smiled approvingly, patting Jack on the shoulder. "That's very bon, Captain. We don't want a repeat of the incident my first night here, do we?"
"No." Jack said, in a tone more neutral than some negotiators. "We definitely don't. Ever again."
The girl's smile grew. "No, that would be a shame, wouldn't it?"
Noticing Drake, she flashed him a more genuine smile. "Hello, Drake. You are having a pleasant journee, I hope?"
"Fair enough, Mary." Drake replied, before gesturing to his Captain. "Jack is showing me around the ship. It's been...interesting, so far."
The skull pirate's sole female member nodded empathetically. "Ah, I see."
Stepping aside, she motioned for the merman to come in. "In that case, allow me to show you my room, Drake."
Drake looked to Jack who was still intently studying the wall. Shrugging, the martial artist entered.
Mary's room didn't really look any different than the three others he'd been shown so far. But even someone unused to interacting with women (as Drake was, regrettably) could sense the unique, latent aura of a domicile to the fairer sex. To a trained martial artist it was nearly solid.
In any case, the girl's taste in decoration was appropriate not because of her gender, but her role on the ship. Potted flowers dotted the bookcase, desk, and certain parts of the floor. Overhead, certain parts of the ceiling had been removed to allow sunlight to shine down on them. Drake sniffed; the various scents of the flora had mingled together to form a constant, shifting aroma that was both impossible to pin down, and very pleasant to the nose.
Mary gestured to all of this and smiled politely. "My duty on this ship is as its Botanist and Dietician; I know your physical sante must be important to you as a martial artist, so don't hesitate to call on me if you ever start to feel worse for wear."
Drake smiled back. "I'll keep that in mind, Mary. I'm sure any remedy you came up with would work wonders."
"Naturellment, my pechent friend," replied Mary, curtsying. "Will that be all? I do have some work to attend to."
"No, don't let me keep you." Drake started back out, but turned back at the door. "Oh – and Jack wanted to tell you, there's going to be a meeting after lunch today in the mess hall. Apparently the ship's course could be altered, depending on our opinion."
Mary sighed. "I'm sure that will be very interesting. I guess I'll see you then, Drake."
"Mm-hm."
Closing the door, Drake watched Jack for a moment before clearing his throat politely. "Mary said she would be there, Jack. Shall we continue?"
Jack turned around and nodded, trying not to look utterly cowed. "…right. Sure we will."
As they continued down the corridor, there was silence for a moment until Jack spoke up. "Drake?"
"Yes?"
"That…never happened, 'kay?"
"What never happened?"
A beat passed, and then Jack grinned. "I'll make a pirate out of you yet, Needle Nose."
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The rest of the rooms on that floor were empty, their former marine occupants not having their domiciles sullied just yet. A few rooms were on the next floor (maybe as a sign of importance, Jack thought; marines got into that frat boy stuff a lot), but it was mostly odd-and-end rooms, along with the hold.
It was, well, a hold. A large room with plenty of stuff in it that couldn't be stored anywhere else – all you could say about it, really. A grate in the ceiling let in some sunlight as the two stepped in-between various crates and parcels.
"It certainly is full down here, Jack." Drake remarked.
"Yeah, tell me about it." Jack replied with a nod. He waved a hand at the assembled luggage. "We still haven't figured out what some of this crap does. Other than contribute to the ocean's biggest junk heap, that is."
"Better here than in the ocean." Drake reasoned, tapping a luggage pile out of curiosity, and stepping back when it wobbled in every direction possible at once. He followed after Jack – the merman had a feeling anyone unfamiliar with this room could easily get lost in it for hours.
The skull pirate nodded. "Yeah, that'd be pretty irresponsible." He looked around and shrugged. "Sailors say you can tell a lot about a captain by looking at his ship. So what's this supposed to tell me about that marine, huh?"
Behind him, Drake smiled slightly. "Well, I don't think anyone would have trouble telling what kind of person you are, Jack."
Jack interpreted this in the nicest possible way, and smiled. "Gee, thanks. I don't like to think I'm really stealing this ship, but it's nice to know I've put my mark on it."
He stopped and looked around for a moment. "Huh…you know, I don't really remember what I brought you down here to see in the first place. Let's get outta here."
"Fine by me." said Drake. "I've had enough tight spaces for a long while."
The merman followed Jack as he walked back past him…and then stopped at the next intersection, looking around for a moment. A long moment.
Drake folded his arms. "Jack…" he sighed.
"I'm thinking!"
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Lunch (and every other meal) in the Flying Skull was a…unique affair. The mess hall was designed to accommodate a ship's worth of marines rather than just five people, resulting in the entire crew sitting comfortably at a table meant for about twenty.
The Skull Pirates had yet to recruit a professional cook, but thankfully all of the current members were mostly able to fend for themselves. As one might expect for such a radically diverse group, their tastes in food and preparation of it were equally different.
Jack, to go with the simplest example first, liked meat. Any kind of it, really: pig, cow, bull, moose, bear, cougar, mountain lion, goat…anything that wasn't kept as a pet or small enough to fit through holes in walls, really. Watching him eat was an equally rudimentary sight – he grabbed the food, and then ate it. Those two steps appeared to be all he required, or, possibly, had heard of. One's senses quickly got used to it, though: even if you didn't see him eat, the sound easily substituted.
Gerald's palate was significantly wider; from what Drake could tell he'd eat anything…provided, of course, there were condiments for it. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, garlic (oh gods, garlic), and countless spices…according to Gerald, they were 'the proper armaments for a refined gentleman's meal', whatever that meant.
Mary was nearly Jack's complete opposite. While she usually took some meat with her meals, most of it was taken up by greens. Drake could recall several plants around Steven's island that they had used for medicine and meals, but Mary made the old man look like an amateur. Countless herbs and vegetables he'd never seen before were littered across her plate, and often, to his considerable regret, Jack's.
Frank ate nothing so extravagant. According to the shinobi, his training encouraged fasting as much as possible – from what Drake had heard of it, it must have been a very harsh regimen. Meager foods like rice, bread, water and beans were acceptable, with greater dishes only allowed on special occasions. His first meal with Frank, Jack had asked the shinobi why he followed such a silly rule. Who would know, out here? After a moment's thought, Frank had replied, 'I would'. A pirate didn't have much to say in the face of an answer like that.
Finally Drake looked down at his own meal. Maybe it was because of Steven's training, but he had never really minded eating fish, even if other mermen felt otherwise. Other than that, however, his menu was quite large, making sure to contain all of the necessary food groups.
When the meal was over, Jack left for a moment before returning with his quarters' map, which he slapped down on the table.
"Okay," Jack said as everyone crowded around, "right now, we're about…here." He pointed to a spot on the map about a few inches away from Newport Island's marker.
"Now, West Blue has a couple islands near the Grand Line's entrance, but if we want to stock up properly, the place to go is probably…here." He indicated a rather sizable marker on the map's edge, and squinted at the name.
"Avalon Isle…sounds like a nice place, huh?" The captain looked back up to varying expressions of disbelief.
As well as worry, courtesy of Frank. "Um, Captain, Avalon Isle is home to the Kingdom of Avalon, West Blue's largest form of government." he ventured gently. "They are part of the World Government, and control a sizable militia. They might not take kindly to pirate visitors."
Gerald interjected with a shake of his head. "As strange as it might sound, Frank, Avalon actually quite tolerates Grand Line related tourism. It makes up a good chunk of the island's income each year, and several shops almost owe their livelihood to the grand Age of Piracy."
Mary nodded. "So long as someone doesn't provoke them, we should be eminent."
"Always gotta single me out, of course…" Jack grumbled as he moved his finger across the distance between Avalon Isle and The Flying Skull. "Anyway, if we keep up this pace, and keep moving in a straight line, we should get there in about two weeks. What do you guys think?" He looked up to once more see varying expressions from everyone but Frank – this time, of horror.
Drake cleared his throat carefully. "I…don't think that's a very wise idea, Jack."
"Oh yeah? Why?"
The merman pointed at the map this time, to a large dot right on their ship's current heading.
"That's why." the shark murmured ominously. "You're not from West Blue, Jack, so you wouldn't know, but these islands have a reputation among sailors here."
Mary nodded. "The Rainbow Archipelago…you hear stories about it all the time. They say the entire area is haunted, and any ships that enter never leave again."
"It's dangerous enough even without anything supernatural." said Gerald, his tone serious for once. He indicated the marker again. "See how there's nothing else there? That's pretty much the entire map of it – no Cartographer has ever returned from the Archipelago. The unique air pressure or something around it makes for constant storms, or so I heard from a weather man once."
Frank gulped. "That doesn't sound very good."
Jack listened to all of these objections carefully, fingers steepled, nodding at all the appropriate points. "I see," he began solemnly when they were through. "So what you all mean is, these islands are probably more dangerous than any place we've been to so far, completely unknown to everyone, and maybe even filled with horrible monsters, eh?"
The pirate's grin split his face. "Well in that case, let's go!"
He watched as his brave and loyal crew face-planted in unison onto the table, only to instantly rise with the usual complaints.
"You know, I don't understand how your mind works, Jack; I really don't." Gerald said. "'Oh, the Jungle of a Million Billion Man Eating Lions? Sounds lovely! The Bottomless Pit of Absolute Terror? I think I've found my next vacation spot!' I can certainly understand altruism, but suicide is another matter entirely."
Jack grinned sardonically. "But Gerald: if the Archipelago is completely unknown, how can entering it be suicide?"
This bit of wisdom earned the captain a thorn vine around his neck.
"Please don't try to sound clever, Jack," Mary said sweetly, "it doesn't suit you. Even on just hearsay, the fact that no-one has come back from the islands should tell you enough. Going around them will only take a few extra days, and likely spare us looking like you, hm?"
The other three nodded firmly. In reply, Jack raised his hands and let out a faint gurgle.
Mary blinked. "Oh, pardon me." Releasing her grip, the girl stared as her captain stood up dramatically, slamming his hands down on the table. He looked around at all of them, expression very stern.
"Well, so now you guys show your true colors, eh?" Jack said gravely. "You all act like guys – and one lady – when you joined me, but when we run into something that might be a little difficult? You want to run and hide under your beds!"
He began to walk around the table, arms behind his back like a general addressing their troops. "You're talking about getting to the Grand Line in one piece, but do you think that ocean is sunshine and roses? Hell no! Compared to some of the stuff there, this Archipelago can't be more than a molehill!"
Clenching his fists, Jack spread them wide at his crew. "If we don't test ourselves now, then who knows? Maybe later on there'll be an even greater challenge and we'll all get wiped out, along with our dreams."
He let them reflect on this momentarily, before his grin returned in full force. "Besides; what's pirate but another name for explorer?" he boomed. "We could be the first crew to explore this place in maybe forever! Don't you think that would sound good on the Skull Pirates' reputation?"
The crew looked swayed, but not wholly convinced, except for…
"Well, when you put it like that, Captain, it does sound interesting." Frank said brightly. "If it's such an unknown place, then there could be anything there…hidden treasures, or perhaps even animals or plants the world has never seen!"
Mary's eyebrow shot up like an arrow, and so did Jack's – for once, he hadn't been thinking with his stomach.
Gerald sighed. "Majority vote then. Crafty buggers, both of them." He looked over at their newest member. "Guess we'll just have to grin and bear it, eh Drake?"
The merman looked mystified. "What? I didn't say I was against it; only warning about the danger." He grinned, an unfamiliar expression for anyone besides Jack. "Just because I'm a martial artist doesn't mean I can't appreciate something interesting."
A moment ticked by and then Gerald sighed again, louder. "Crew full of lunatics…and I'm one of them."
From the mess hall's open door suddenly came the sound of squawking. Jack's eyes lit up. "The News Pelican's here!" he cried, running out onto the deck.
Mary frowned. "Has anyone else noticed how excited Jack's been about the nouvelles lately? And not just the funnies, either."
"I don't know," said Gerald magnanimously, "perhaps our captain has simply begun taking an interest in current affairs? It's not impossible."
Frank's mask scrunched up in thought for a moment, and then he shook his head. "No, I think it might be, Gerald-san."
The suited man rolled his eyes momentarily, and stood up. "Well, shall we go take a look?"
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When the four exited out onto the main deck, they found Jack digging around in his pockets, while a sash-clad pelican sat on the railing, looking about as bored as a bird could.
Finally the Skull Pirate produced a beri coin, which he flicked into the pelican's waiting beak. It handed him a newspaper from out of the satchel, as well as a stack of new and updated bounty posters. The bird then took flight, searching for other customers.
Jack, meanwhile, was looking at the front page with a wide, manic, and slightly worrying grin. "Finally…" he breathed, "finally, finally, finally! It's here!"
"Take some deep breaths, Jack." Gerald said calmly as they neared. "Don't want to pop a blood vessel, after all. What's here?"
Their captain's grin turned friendly as he swiveled to face him, the newspaper clasped to his chest. "Something pretty awesome for us, Gerald, that's all. You remember back at Newport Island, when we met that marine, Brandy?"
Mary sighed. "How could we forget? He was like another you, after all."
"I'm in such a good mood I'll ignore that, Mary." Jack replied cheerfully. "Anyway, I talked to him and made a deal: we both knew he was gonna get the credit for taking down Helsing no matter what, so I arranged for us to get something too."
He thrust out the newspaper for them to take, grinning like a dog. "Surprise!"
Staring at the clump of journalism like it was a live bomb Gerald took it and stared, Mary Frank and Drake crowding at his shoulders. The front page headline instantly drew their eyes.
NEW WEST BLUE PIRATE CREW AT LARGE
BEWARE OF THE SKULL PIRATES!
Below the massive bold letters was a collage of Jack's, Mary's, and Drake's bounty posters, with photos of Frank and Gerald also present. The man himself began to read, voice thick with disbelief.
"Attention, citizens of West Blue: there is yet another looming danger seeking to shatter this ocean's peace, which we must make you aware of on behalf of the Marines. As the headline indicates, a new band of pirates has stepped forward to join the countless others: their name, the Skull Pirates. They are a very small crew, boasting only five members as of this article's writing, but rest assured, they are all extremely dangerous.
The Captain of the Skull Pirates is one Jack Bones, a mystery man who supposedly hails from the Grand Line itself. He is the eater of the Doku Doku no Mi Devil Fruit, which transforms the user into a walking, shape-shifting skeleton – a power and appearance befitting the title of Skeleton Pirate. Aside from the base crime of piracy, Jack Bones has been convicted of resisting arrest, breaking out of jail, assaulting several marine privates and at least one officer, and stealing a marine vessel right of its dock. Additionally, Jack has been credited with the defeat of two other infamous West Blue pirates, in the form of Bandock 'The Butcher' and 'Queen' Adianne. While his original bounty was a mere five million, taking this additional knowledge into account the Marines have seen fit to raise it up to twenty-six. After all, anyone capable of defeating people like them with not even ten crewmates is dangerous indeed!"
Mary pulled the paper from Gerald's loosening hands and took over.
"But this increase is far from due to just his strengths; the few crewmates Jack Bones has recruited are each strong in their own way, and in the case of two, have acquired their own bounties as well. Mary 'The Thorn', West Blue's femme fatale flower has been confirmed as part of the crew, her Rose Rose no Mi powers and deadly personality making a powerful ally, and enemy. Rest assured that her pleasant appearance conceals thorns well befitting of her namesake."
Drake started reading now.
"Perhaps more impressive, though, is the presence of a merman in the Skull Pirates, quite unusual given their pirates' tendency to band together and their distrust of humans in general. Not just any merman, either, but 'Fist of the Sea' Drake, a mysterious and fearsome shark martial artist who practices a unique style thought lost until now – Umi no Ken, or Fist of the Sea. Little is known about this art, but with a bounty of twenty-five million, it must indeed be fearsome: Drake acquired his bounty by savagely assaulting both entire pirate crews and marine/government officials on islands across West Blue. The few witnesses to these attacks say the merman fought like a whirlwind, easily defeating opponents at even five to one odds."
Frank blinked as the newspaper was handed to him next.
"Bounty heads aside, the Skull Pirates also contain two members who have yet to acquire such fearsome reputations, or in fact any reputations at all! One is an enigmatic masked man, concealing his appearance, identity and history from the world. As you know, dear readers, rumors have come in from around West Blue and our sister seas of mysterious figures in similar garb, with fantastic powers comparable to Devil Fruits – perhaps he is one of them?"
Letting out a nervous gulp, the shinobi handed it back to Gerald.
"The second is a very odd case. He wears no mask, his appearance should be distinct enough to easily place a name to…and yet, despite our best efforts, we cannot even guess a possible identity for this gentleman. The scant bit of information we have is that he broke out of Cherry Island's jail along with Jack Bones. Even the marines who arrested him have no idea who he is – very mysterious, especially for a pirate!
If you should encounter the Skull Pirates on the open seas, readers, use extreme caution, and do not attempt to restrain any of them yourself. Report to the nearest group of marines as soon as possible, and then get behind any cover you can find; the areas they fight in tend to suffer even more than their opponents, as Charity Town and Rose Island can attest. Rest assured we will be following the Skull Pirates' path through West Blue, as well as the careers of any other notable pirate crews – for more information, please check the back pages and enclosed bounty posters. Farewell for now, dear readers, and make sure to stay safe."
With that, Gerald neatly folded the paper, dropped it onto the floor, and began to stamp on it wildly.
"I thought it was pretty good journalism, myself." Jack commented dryly.
Instantly, his first mate's pointer finger was one inch away. "Why…would you even…URGH!"
"Use your words, Gerald." Jack snarked again, then regretted quickly when he was grabbed around the collar.
For once, Gerald didn't look happy. "How are these two? You idiot!" he shouted. "Who makes a deal to RAISE the amount of people that want them dead! Nobody except for Jack bloody Bones, that's who!"
The skull pirate frowned. "Hey, it's not like you have a bounty – I couldn't spin your averageness into anything really scary, sorry."
"That's not the point!" Gerald said vehemently. "The point is, you should think before springing surprises on us that will make this journey even more dangerous. As the captain of this ship, you should have some responsibility!"
"…" Jack sighed, and shrugged out of the grip effortlessly. "So what, Gerald, you thought we'd get out West Blue without becoming a major blip on their radar? Just making it to the Grand Line is enough of an excuse for the marines to raise bounties, and sometimes just existing at all. If you're gonna be first mate on a pirate crew, then you should expect things like this."
Suddenly, Jack stepped in close, expression turning serious. "I know something's going on here, Gerald." he said quietly. "If there's a reason you don't want to be found, tell us if it's so important. Otherwise, shut up."
Gerald frowned deeply as Jack withdrew, standing silently for a moment. Then his usual smile returned as he stepped aside. "Fair enough, fair enough, I see your point, Captain: complaint officially withdrawn."
The smile turned slightly nasty. "Besides, I should at least be supportive, considering who else wants to talk with you."
Jack blinked. "Eh, what do you – HURK!"
Mary leaned down, looking her snared, bent double captain in the eye. "So, I have a deadly personality? I wonder what they meant by that…do you have any idea, Jack?"
"A-artistic license maybe, Mary?" Jack smiled, the same way a particularly slow sheep would do to a charging wolf. "After all, these reporters only want to make stuff sound good, so naturally they wouldn't know you for the kind, sweet, innocent…uh…"
"Keep going."
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"PULL!"
With a mighty throw Jack's bounty poster, now scrunched up into a ball, rose up high, silhouetted itself against the sun…and then was eclipsed by a blast of crimson-red energy that vaporized the paper completely.
Lowering a glowing hand, Bandock the Butcher frowned deeply – not very hard, given his size.
"You feel better, Cap'n Bandock Dude?" Mr. Kamikaze ventured gently.
The giant sighed. "No, not really – anyone can kill a picture, but the meaning behind it tends to be much more durable. I'm afraid I won't be satisfied until I twist off our friend Jack's head, preferably in front of a wide audience." He smiled. "Well, what do you know? That cheered me up."
Kamikaze grinned, nodding. "Sheyeah, those guys are gonna seriously get it when our waves cross paths."
He held up three bounty posters. "After all, no way in heck they coulda missed these." The bomber crowed. "A nice big thirty mil for you, Cap'n, twelve for Mute here," beside him, the silent puppeteer nodded, "and ten mil for me."
Bandock nodded appraisingly. "Maybe, maybe not – with his attitude, I wouldn't put it past Jack." He grinned, showing off all his teeth. "But if so, it'll be a nice surprise for him, won't it boys?"
A cheer went up across the ship. Bandock gazed around, looking apologetic. "Oh…and I'm real sorry about that, fellas. Guess I still need to work on my temper, huh?"
Instantly a chorus of 'no's, 'not at all's and 'if anything, you're too nice's came from everyone else present.
The giant captain nodded. "Well, thanks."
Sighing quietly in relief, his crew returned to the task of clearing up the wreckage of anything that hadn't been nailed down when Bandock read the Skull Pirate's article.
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"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
On another ship not very far from Bandock's, an all-female crew ran in circles to evade the lashing sting of a spiked iron whip, its wielder possessing a far more constant temper than the giant's.
"Please calm down, Mistress Adianne!" Aya of the Amazon Sisters said, holding up her arms in a placating manner. "It's really not good for your blood pressure!"
The swordswoman ducked as the whip came at her next. "BLOOD PRESSURE!" Adianne roared as she swung the weapon expertly, even in anger. "Do you honestly expect me to worry about such trivialities, Aya, when things like this greet me in the morning!" She flung out her whip again, spearing the newspaper on Mary's face and pulling it close.
"Look at it." Adianne whispered dangerously. "A front page headline devoted to that little weed and her rabble, while I? Receive barely a whisper."
The whip lashed out again, grabbing one hapless woman around the wrist and dragging her forward. "Does that sound fair to you, girl?" Adianne asked while smiling reassuringly – or at least what she thought was.
"No, of course not, Mistress," said the woman quickly, "this entire sea should be singing your praises, as we all know! That they haven't here is utterly criminal!"
Adianne nodded slowly, as though processing the very information she wanted to hear. "Yes, very true, is it not?" She looked away at the sea, tapping her chin. "And after all, we haven't done much for the public to report on…a disservice on my part, certainly."
The woman strode away, dragging her still caught crew member along. "What better way to attract the spot-light than snuffing out someone else's?" Adianne said, sneering. Yes, I'll let Mary have her little moment in the sun...before I snuff it out. She deserves nothing less for taking my Martin away from me."
At this, the ensnared woman blinked. "Um…I've been wondering about that, Mistress. If Mary isn't at Rose Island anymore, couldn't we just head back there, hypnotize him with your powers again, and le – EAVE!"
Without visibly reacting at all Adianne had twisted her whip to floor the woman, and then dug a heel into the back of her neck. "No." she said sweetly.
"…a-alright…"
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Many days travel through both the physical and societal realms from the two pirate ships, there sat a man in a tall tower, just now finishing his lunch. He would have preferred dining earlier, but duty was duty, and there were oh so many things to do.
Lifting an elegantly crafted cup to his lips, the man savored the taste of the equally refined tea held within. He sighed in pleasure – overall, it had been a lovely morning, and the afternoon was looking quite good as well.
Reaching out he took hold of the daily news, untouched until now, and spread it out with one hand. For the next few minutes he read, nodding thoughtfully at all the points that leapt out at him.
Then he folded the paper neatly, set it down, and nodded. "Gisborne," he said neutrally, in a perfect indoor voice.
The room's door opened, and in sidled an armor-clad man, well-trained to hearing calls for him. He saluted widely. "Yes, milord?" he barked.
In response, the man held up the newspaper. "Take a look at this, will you? Something within may draw your eye."
Taking it freely, Gisborne peered closely, squinting preemptively to read the tiny print. The man watched with curiosity as, like a spill of white-out on a painting, all the color drained from his face at once.
"W-well, milord, I had no idea – there's no way any of us coulda known he'd-"
A raised hand silenced his placating. "Rest assured, Gisborne, that I am equally surprised. But the press has been quite providential here, has it not, to alert us of such a…troublesome matter before it arrives. And if we deal with this now, it cannot become an actual problem later, hm?"
Slowly, Gisborne nodded. He'd never understood why his master felt like beating around the bush so much, when 'go have this bloke whacked' would get the message across just as well; probably better to someone like Gisborne.
"You'll find the Den Den Mushi in the usual place. Send someone new this time – the guild had their graduation just a week ago, and eagerness would be most helpful here."
"Yes, milord." echoed Gisborne as he hurriedly left the chamber. Assassins weren't much better company, but they were at least a brand of thuggery he understood.
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"Man…" groaned Jack, nursing his sore neck. "You're just lucky I'm so chivalrous, Mary, or you might get a reckoning one of these days."
The flower girl raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Oh, and you canfoncierère that up, hm?"
"…well, maybe." Jack muttered lamely. "It'd be close, anyway."
"Of course it would."
Frank was still looking at the newspaper. "This…isn't that bad, right? We shinobi have been noticed by the world before, so I shouldn't get in too much trouble."
Sitting in a deckchair nearby reading, Gerald shrugged. "Look on the bright side – it can't be as bad as you make taking off your mask out to be. You should be fine."
The shinobi chuckled, surprisingly enough. "Well, that's like saying a broken arm is better than being executed outright, Gerald-san. But you're probably right. After all, just having a picture is useless against a truly skilled shinobi…and even one like me."
Gerald raised an eye away from the page, looking over Frank's colorful costume. "Oh, yes, can't imagine that happening."
Drake had returned to his position against the mast, meditating easily despite the conversations going on around him. However, he suddenly lifted his head, an uncommon smile appearing, enough to get his new friends' attention.
"Well, there's something you don't see everyday." the mermaid said, striding up to the starboard railing. As the others followed, he pointed, smile widening.
Stepping up next to him, Jack leaned over the rail, eyes widening to saucers. "What the heck…" he murmured, "…are those?"
Roughly a hundred feet away from the ship was a school of massive whales, each big enough to be a small island by itself. The Skull Pirates' Captain watched with wonder as they floated still in the water like giants, braying their mysterious song all around. Next to him, Frank's reaction was very similar.
"Those, Jack, are Island Whales," said Gerald informatively, "one of West Blue's claims to fame. They live only in this sea, and grow to be the biggest thing in the ocean that's not a Sea King."
Mary nodded. "They've been classified as an endangered species by the World Government. Just seeing one is rare, as hard as that is to believe – ha ha, I wonder if this is good chance?"
Jack watched them, smiling. "Heh, I'll buy that. It's too bad we can't take one with us as a pet, huh?"
"Only you could come up with that sort of trouvaille, Jack," said Mary with a smile, "imagine; a ship with its own pet whale?"
"…well, when you put it like that, yeah, it does sound kinda silly." Jack admitted after a moment, frowning.
Gerald nodded. "I think we've already filled our slot for that particular category, no offense meant to you, Drake. We should try to brainstorm on what other sorts of minorities to recruit; if that's the angle we're going for, anyway."
Jack raised an eyebrow, well aware his first mate was still in a bad mood. But before he could think more about why, or say something, Drake's face caught his eye: it was uncertain, which was surprising all in itself. Other than when speaking of his past, the merman had seemed as solid as a rock back on Newport Island. What could shake him so?
"Something's wrong." Drake supplied with his usual succinctness. "With their size Island Whales don't usually cluster together aside from families, and there's too many for that. All they're doing is floating there…and they sound worried."
None of them could say much for the second point, but the first was spot on, which Jack had also noticed. The roughly half-dozen (it was hard to tell them apart without their faces visible) were facing away from the ship, clustered before a rock spire that jutted straight out of the ocean. It was impossible to tell from the deck what they were interested in, but their voices suggested it was something very important.
Frank started for the mast. "I'll go up to the Crow's Nest and look, Captain."
Jack stopped the shinobi with a hand on his shoulder, smiling. "Nah, that'd take too long." he said breezily. "I think my 'unique talents' can do the job here."
Reaching up, he grabbed onto his head and tugged, the bone coming off easily at his touch. As the others stepped back to give him room, he wound up hard. "Here comes the pitch…" said Jack's head, now a moving blur. "And…THROW!"
The head quickly sailed up above, rising higher than even the crow's nest. The other Skull Pirates waited patiently as it reached the peak of its height…
Crash – the pirates jumped as Jack's body moved, swinging a fist down to utterly pulverize the railing before it. They stared, large splinters flying past, as his head came down and reconnected with its eyes shut tightly. Instantly Jack began to shake, and not out of sadness.
"What kind of…" Jack growled through grit teeth, tightening his grip on the bits of wood embedded in it, "…what kind of person would...no." He shook his head slowly. "What kind of MONSTER would do that!"
His crew stepped back from the roar. None of them had ever seen Jack like this - it was a little scary.
All except Drake, that was. He didn't budge an inch, instead laying a firm hand on his captain's shoulder. "Jack. Calm down, and tell us what you saw." the merman said calmly.
Amazingly, Jack did so. In explanation he pointed toward the rock: at that moment one of the whales shifted, allowing the Skull Pirates to see what had caught their attention so well. It attracted them, too.
Each of the five's reactions to the sight before their eyes was different, but all were the same in horrification. Jack's eyes somehow darkened more than they already had. Gerald took a step backward, his whole body drooping (even the moustache). Mary gave a sharp intake of breath before looking away, gulping. Frank took one look, unblinking, before running across to port – retching was heard.
And, wearing a stony expression, Drake tightened his grip on the rail until it cracked.
Most people, who hadn't really ever travelled the oceans, liked to say in informed tones that they were 'a haven of general lawlessness, filled with some of the worst brigands you could ever hope to find'. For the second point this was true, at least for high society's grand standards. But while most pirates would deny it, there were laws (although 'guidelines' was probably a better example) even out here.
A lot of them were, fittingly, stolen from island laws, or at least the ones they liked: don't hurt your friends, don't harm women (in ways they dislike), don't start anything you can't finish, don't pee in the sea…
…and dolphins and whales are off limits. The others were guidelines, surely, but this one was a rule: something every decent sailor, be they pirate, marine or otherwise, made sure to follow. It may have been hypocritical, sentimental, and nonsensical, but they were different than other fish. People viewed them as good luck, fellow companions on the waves, and perhaps just one or two steps away from humans themselves. Hurting them was, for whatever reason, not allowed.
But recently, someone had broken that rule.
Draped across the rock spire was the corpse of an Island Whale. It was a mess: gashes and stabs covered the once beautiful creature's body, some even reaching down to its equally vandalized bones and organs. Whoever the culprit was, showing mercy obviously hadn't been on their mind – blood from the whale's collective wounds had painted the rock red. A flock of seagulls were perched on the body, pecking wherever they could find room.
"I feel a bit ill," Gerald broke the silence queasily, "and not in my stomach, either."
Mary shook her head slowly. "How could someone do this?" she asked to no-one in particular. "Island Whales are protected by law; the marines come down penible on anyone caught harming one. Even poachers aren't brave enough to try it."
"No." Jack shook his head. "A poacher didn't do this." His voice was calm now, but with the frightening quiet that came with absolute fury.
Drake raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that, Jack?" He asked in the same tone – a very dangerous one to have company.
In reply, the skeleton pointed at the whale's carcass, unpleasant a sight as it was to look at. "Take another look. It's cut up everywhere, yeah, but it's also whole. If a poacher was responsible, this guy would be stripped clean to the bone, I guarantee it. Hell, they might have taken those, too."
His finger shifted, indicating the innumerous wounds, or at least the ones they could see. "And no way did these come from any whaling tool I've seen. Poachers are always precise; injuring something in the wrong place can spoil your profit, so they make sure the first wound is usually the last."
Jack turned to his crew and jabbed a thumb at the sight, expression stony. "But that's like some butcher hacking away with a knife. Like whoever responsible was just hurting something for the sake of it." He spat onto the deck. The other Skull Pirates were silent for the moment, both from slight fear of their captain's anger and surprise at his analysis.
"There's one thing you haven't explained though, Jack." Drake said, holding a fist to his temple in thought. "Island Whales are gentle by nature, but won't hesitate to defend themselves if provoked. I can't imagine many people winning a fair fight with one; they're bigger than any ship."
"Whoever said it was a fair fight,Drake-san?" said Frank, suddenly perched on the railing between the two. They would have jumped in any other situation, but now simply looked to him expectantly.
The shinobi cleared his throat. "That is, I only got a short glance at it before…well, look." he finished shyly, pointing a third finger at the whale. "I thought I saw something on the wounds…there, do you all see that seagull?"
Naturally they didn't; at this distance telling humans apart would have been hard, and seagulls looked the same (that is, like bastard rats with wings) to any non-zoologist. Thankfully the singled out bird decided to make their search easier, by tipping over and falling into the sea like a brick.
"Poison," Frank supplied, "either a lot of it, or one strong enough to kill something so large so quickly. I'd have to inspect it close-up to figure out which, but I don't think that's possible now."
Jack nodded. "Yeah, best to let 'em pay their respects in peace." He stalked back across the ship, fists clenched again.
"But I'll tell you guys one thing," The Skull Pirate said, growling like a wolf, "that couldn't have happened too long ago, and if we run into who did this…well, I'm not gonna be saying high, okay?"
Not to Jack's great surprise, his crewmates nodded as one.
Gerald shrugged airily. "With our unique brand of luck, that'll probably happen anyway – and it would be ungracious not to share some."
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Intentionally or not, Jack had posed a puzzling question, one currently being pondered by someone else: what kind of person, if they could be called one, would kill such a peaceful creature to receive no apparent compensation? Even among these corsair-ridden waves, they'd have to be someone completely devoid of morals and common decency. They'd have to be brutal, savage, and yes, maybe more than a little monstrous. Someone like…someone like…
"Like Ahab." 'Iron Tusk' Michaels finished the train of thought with its obvious answer. As people went, he was quite similar to Jack, which also extended to how he'd react to anyone who pointed this out. People with things in common often up quarreling over the slightest differences, and in this case it would be their professions: Jack a Pirate, while Michaels, a Whaler."
It was often remarked by sympathetic people how vilified pirates were by, well, everyone. It was often remarked by Michaels' crew that those people were idiots. While the marines seemed to spend more time saying how Very Very Bad Pirates Were than actually catching the guys, being one still meant you had an entire army to call your friends, however distantly. But they didn't make warning pamphlets, or proper guidelines for dealing with whalers. It would probably be considered a waste of paper.
When Michaels and his crew came into port, people bought things, sure. Other people threw things, usually rocks, and usually sharp ones; the throwers themselves ranged from toddlerdom to old age, and you had to feel bad about that even if they were crappy shots. Sometimes even pirate crews joined in. Actually going into town was also a surefire way to get spat on, even by dogs and pigeons! When a race that only did three things (one of them on people) was looking down on you, you knew things were bad.
This was truly a shame, because to defy a stereotype, Michaels wasn't that bad of a person. He was generally friendly to everyone without provocation otherwise; he was kind to animals (although not, of course, the ones he worked with daily) and he devoted an annual portion of his profits to charity. Whaling was an occupation to him, not a lifestyle, and he made certain to act professionally, if not environmentally friendly.
Most people would have been surprised to learn this, however, because of his rather unfortunate appearance; it was sadly appropriate for the man's job. He was big, a little more than six feet tall, and like most whalers had grown muscular out of necessity. As if this wasn't enough, he also had dark-brown hair which managed to be wild no matter how short it was, eyes of the same color that seemed locked in a slight perpetual glare, and a face that wouldn't be unfitting for at least a Shichibukai. No matter how you squinted or viewed him from different angles, Michaels looked like a thug and had for most of his life, except perhaps the birth. His dark, dirty clothing also supported this, and even his choice of weapons; 'Iron Tusk' came from the two curved tonfas he wielded, currently strapped across his back.
But at least on the inside, Michaels wasn't a bad person – and he didn't deserve the company of someone who was.
"Things like Ahab never happen to bad people, though." the whaler thought to himself after a few moments. Michaels wasn't a slow thinker by any means, but he was simple (like Jack) and subjects that required a lot of deep thought didn't often occur to him (like Jack). So to ensure he got them right, he summoned the same concentration as when stalking particularly elusive prey. The harpoon practically appeared in his hand.
And you couldn't help thinking of Ahab, after you'd spent enough time around the man (or far more likely, him around you). He had a strange aura around him that was like a whirlpool, funneling your mind downward until he was at the forefront of it. A lot like how he'd affected this ship, Michaels thought. Comparing how Ahab acted to any natural disaster was something no-one could argue with.
Michaels remembered the day he'd first showed up. As with many things in life, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Volunteers for this job were few and far between, and Ahab even had his own group of workers. Sure, they looked weird, but that was no reason to judge…in hindsight, he probably should have. It would have saved them all some grief…and more than one whale would still be alive.
He wasn't a psychologist by any means, but he imagined Ahab had been the kind of child who pulled the wings off flies, and squashed ants on purpose. Not burning them with a magnifying glass, though: that would take too long. But he was also the kind who could tug his sister's hair sharply, then make their parents think it was her fault. Slowly he'd risen from a worker to a supervisor, and supervisor to…well, Michael's position, at least unofficially. He still wasn't sure how. Ahab had a gift for public speaking that was boosted by no-one ever wanting to interrupt him. Somehow it felt like a bad idea.
"Hey, boss." the rough voice of one of his crew broke into Michael's thoughts. He turned, regarding the long coat and black, visor-equipped mask. That was the uniform for their team, more or less, although one he had obscured. As his ship's captain, the whaler reasoned, he was their face to the rest of the world. If it was only he who actually had a face, then people's abuse would naturally gravitate toward him…and that was fine; Michaels liked his crew.
The whaler captain cleared his throat. "Yeah?" he asked, equally casual.
Somehow, the young man managed to look uncomfortable through the frosted visor. "Ahab, boss: he wants to talk to ya."
His expression jumped to Michaels. "Uh…huh. Okay…uh, did he say what for?" He tried to resist the urge to gulp.
"Dunno – he didn't say, and I sure as hell didn't ask." replied the other whaler. "Probably about our destination, though." he added, giving a meaningful stare.
Michaels looked apologetic, and shrugged. "Well, thanks for tellin' me. I'll go talk to him right now."
He set off quickly across the deck, watching his crew going about their business. Michaels' ship was steam-powered, probably one of the few in West Blue, and made of dark wood plated over with iron in several places. Harpoon gun emplacements, ropes, and other whaling equipment were placed all around, and kept in perfect working order that contrasted vividly with the deck itself. This was far from an easy task, and he took pride in seeing his crew routinely accomplish it.
His expression turned less pleasant as he saw, here and there, Ahab's men watching them intently. Unlike their leader they never said a word, moving as silently as statues until ordered otherwise. They wore more covering clothing than the whalers, and underneath…well, it didn't bear thinking about, especially not for him.
As Michaels approached the stairs leading down to the cabins, and the 'handling floor' below them, there was a soft thud as someone dropped down next to him.
"Crew's worried, Tusk." said a cold, quiet voice. It belonged to his second-in-command, a thin, lankly women with longer limbs than a normal human. She too wore no mask, displaying her lengthy hair and eyes of the same color freely. She hadn't had a name to give him when they might, so with his natural creativity Michaels had dubbed her Spider.
After giving him about half a second to reply, she continued briskly. "We shouldn't be heading for the Archipelago. Bad mojo inside that place. Real bad."
Spider was Michaels' exact opposite in many ways, but most obviously in speech. While he spoke endlessly and didn't think hard about much, she seemed to think about everything, and only expelled the results in short, clipped sentences. Michaels liked this arrangement just fine – quiet or not, she was reliable.
He nodded. "Yeah, I know. But it's not like we can do much about it, right?" His tone was bitter.
"Could try." Spider said with a shrug. "Better than going in there."
Michaels frowned, looking around at his crew. "Speak for yourself, Spider. Besides, we don't really know what's in there…"
Spider raised an eyebrow. "Know he wants something. Isn't enough?"
Indeed, the prospect of exploring an unknown territory and discovering what lied within did not go well with Ahab's personality. It was like trying to shove a circle peg into a square hole, while it tried to bite your hand off. Michaels wasn't very good with metaphors, either, but he knew if someone like him wanted to go somewhere like that, it wasn't just to take in the scenery.
"Well, I'm gonna go talk to him right now." Michaels said as bravely as he could. "Whatever answer is behind this trip, I'll find it; you can bet on that."
Spider nodded, not looking convinced. "Luck."
"…wonder which kind it'll be." Michaels said, walking down the stairs.
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"The door's open, come on in." Ahab called through the door when Michaels knocked on it (as softly as he could, part subconsciously).
Steeling himself, the whaler opened the door. Ahab's cabin used to be his, a fact he still hadn't managed to get his head around. Along with maps and charts, there were various bits of information concerning his occupation pinned on the walls. On some now were doodles in red marker; circles and arrows around the 'good parts'.
Standing there in the middle was Ahab, practically filling the room as his head scraped the ceiling. He was a very big man, about two feet taller than Michaels, and as wide as two normal people standing side by side. His right hand was a massive hook, while his left was a blunderbuss.
No, not holding a blunderbuss, it literally was one. A big model, too; you could easily mistake it for a ship's cannon at first.
Some elaboration was perhaps in order. Ahab, you see, wasn't fully human, at least not anymore. Michaels wasn't sure what kind and didn't really want to know, but the man had been caught in an accident years ago while out sailing. Over half of his body had been destroyed by the merciless ocean, leaving him almost completely crippled.
Another man might have died, or if not, gotten on with their lives as best they could. Something like that could only be bad luck, after all.
But Ahab wasn't 'another man', he was wholly unique. To compensate for every broken limb, for every ruined bit of muscle, he had rebuilt himself, with iron and steel. There was perhaps more of it now than skin – half of his face was nothing but a metal plate, while the right eye was made of brittle glass that was intensely uncomfortable to look at. His left leg was now a steel peg ending in a sharp point, either because the one it replaced had been too badly damaged, or simply for fear. Maybe both, Michaels thought sardonically. Any other augments were hidden by the large blue coat he wore, buttoned constantly.
A moment passed before Ahab turned to regard him, grinning widely. He didn't flinch, having built up immunity for the horrible smile lined with metal teeth. The green eyes and bald head didn't help matters much, either. Calling it nightmarish was probably an insult to nightmares.
Michaels watched as his ships' usurper gestured with his claw. "Well, are you just going to stand there? I think I told you to come in."
Given the descriptions so far, you might be inclined to think Ahab had a deep, booming voice. This was not the case; in fact his voice was high pitched and squeaky, as though he swallowed five balloons' worth of helium before every conversation. This was quite humorous…until you paid attention to what he said with it.
The whaler nodded as he stepped in, without shutting the door. "Right, right…me and the crew have been wondering about that, too."
"Huh?" Ahab's voice rose (yes, it was possible) in curiosity. "So there's something you all want to know?"
Michaels tried not to gulp. Ahab's curiosity could kill more than the cat. "Well," he began, "we're kinda nervous about going into the Archipelago, 'specially since you've been so vague about what's actually inside it."
"Aaaahhhh…" Ahab sighed as though a great burden was taken off his mind, nodding sagely. "I get it, I get it. You guys must be a little worried, eh?"
He sounded almost genial. Michaels wasn't fooled. "Well, yeah. We're heading toward a place riddled with storms, rocks and who knows what else. It's only fair you tell us what the reward is, right?"
Ahab was silent for a moment. "Fair…" he said slowly, as if savoring the word. "I guess so."
Michaels didn't know how he was able to move so fast. Only that one minute Ahab was in front of him and the next he was right behind, patting him friendly on the shoulder. With his hook.
"Now, Michaels, I can tell you're a man like me." Half-leading, half-pushing, he walked the other man over to the map of their surroundings. "You want nothing more than exactly what you deserve."
With a sweep of the blunderbuss, he indicated the Archipelago. "Inside the Archipelago is said to be a great treasure connected with the ocean. According to legend, anyone who holds this relic can call and control any living thing within it." His tone took on a wondrous quality when speaking of it.
Michaels' eyes widened. Discreetly his eyes flickered to Ahab's neck; hanging there on cord was a small, blue whistle. He'd seen a lot of what it could do lately.
Not discreetly enough, however, as the cyborg smiled, grinning down on it. "Oh, this little baby?" He shrugged. "Nothing but a toy compared to what it's said to be capable of!"
Ahab patted Michaels again. "Of course, I'd never forget the people who helped me to find such a treasure, and you and your lads would stand to profit greatly from something like that. Why, we might even draw in species from the Grand Line itself."
The whaler would have stayed silent, if not for one word. "'We'," Michaels echoed, "that's what this is?"
Smile widening, Ahab nodded. "Oh, of course it is, Michaels. We're both helping each-other get what we deserve, after all."
Then, in one swift movement, he turned the hook sideways and smashed it against the back of his head. With a grunt, Michaels pitched forward and crashed into the desk chin-first. Before he could rise, Ahab's hook thunked several feet into the wood less than an inch from his head.
"And if you decide at any point that you don't like this arrangement," hissed the cyborg's raspy voice in his ear, "just tell me, and I'll be sure to reduce it to just me. Completely. Do we understand each-other, Michaels?"
Keeping a tight grip on his nerves to keep from shuddering, he tilted his head slightly more.
Ahab chuckled. "Good, good. I like dealing with smart men."
He released Michaels and the whaler calmly but quickly walked to the door. He stopped once there, as if remembering something, and turned back. "Didn't you want to tell me something, Ahab?"
The half-metal man shrugged his shoulders, the grin still on his face. "I did already. Couldn't you tell, Michaels?"
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Miles away from either ship, inside the Archipelago, a small figure stood on one of the many islands that formed it.
The two ships approach by the hour, said a formless yet omnipresent voice in the air. They will attempt to enter these islands.
The figure nodded. "Yes. I know."
Then you know too, what you must do to protect this land, and all who dwell within it, the voice said firmly.
Another nod. "Yes…my duty."
They looked down at the object in their hands, and lifted it to their lips…
To be continued…
Next time, on One Piece: The Skull Pirates…
Mary: Another storm, just parfait…
Drake: No…not all of them are mermen…
Jack: I'm gonna use your ass to repair my ship, tin man.
A Stormy Collision! The Skull Pirates VS Ahab!
Ahab: I'd like you all to meet my big friend…
LordGambit508 – For me it sure did, and I'm glad to finally be done with it. Now I can move onto this chapter…which took over a month to get out…oh god, it begins again…D:
ThePirateProphet14 – No. He'll know of Luffy's existence, and react to things he does and events he causes, but I can say for certain they'll never meet directly. Besides, do you WANT to see Jack get pummeled?
Well, until next chapter, see you guys.