AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is technically the second chapter in the same day, but screw it, it's the weekend. Enjoy!

Chapter 8: Sympathy For The Devil

Despite the fact that he clearly couldn't manage to fit the key into the lock of the car door, Rock continued to try and do so for several minutes. It was an unfamiliar car, a small rusted hatchback he used whenever the need arose to travel long distances. It rarely did these days, however, which was why he had driven it to the Yellowflag instead. As a result of the large amount of rum he had consumed, he could not even manage to unlock the vehicle, never mind drive it. At last, he gave up and took the key away from the lock. He had made several scratches in the paint of the door during his attempts to enter the car. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued to lean against the vehicle with the other. It was probably the only reason he was still standing and not face down in the road.

"Goddammit," he mumbled quietly. "Guess I'm walking, then." Resigning himself to an inconvenient journey back here in the morning to retrieve the car-if it hadn't been stolen-he started walking along the path towards his apartment and stuffed the keys back into his pocket haphazardly.

The way ahead was unobstructed, but Rock was walking like someone trying to avoid stepping on a series of landmines. He winced and blinked his eyes a few times as if to adjust his vision. It did not help. The path, the road and the walls of the buildings all twisted and churned like they were made of liquid. That was going to make the walk home much more difficult.

"Whoa…didn't have that much to drink, did I?" he asked himself, slurring his words as he did so. He would dare to say he could have outdrank Revy tonight. Revy. He lifted one hand and ran his finger along the length of his nose. The most recent time she had broken it hadn't been the first, but it may well have been the last and, in rather unorthodox fashion, that almost felt like a bad thing. Rock just grunted and continued walking. The drink was supposed to make him forget his worries, but he was wallowing in them instead. He didn't regret his decisions, but he did find himself sometimes questioning what the future held as a result of them. He had always been the lonesome type, with few friends back in Japan before his life as a pirate and a largely dysfunctional relationship with his family to boot. And his work life was even worse. For most of his life, he had learned to be alone and rely on his own company instead of that of other people. For that reason, he was doing perfectly fine with the current way of things. But that did not change the fact that it was still a difficult adjustment. He once questioned why it was so easy to relax around Lagoon Company the day he had been taken hostage by them, why he grew so attached to them and how it felt so natural to renounce his old life in favour of a new one as an outlaw. Back then, he chalked it up to it Stockholm syndrome, the event of a captive becoming enamoured or emotionally dependant on his or her captors. Now, Rock understood the much simpler explanation for it, how he had merely been so starved for human interaction and camaraderie before being taken prisoner that he latched onto Lagoon Company at the first chance. And now, he was alone once more. He supposed it could have been worse. He had had his fair share of companionship during his time in this city, even if there had been many speedbumps along the way. But he was content to allow things to play out this way. It was a situation of his own making. He was the mastermind of it all and, in the end, he was still the one who had pulled the strings and made the others dance to his tune. He smiled at the thought.

As Rock was walking, he failed to notice the two strangers approach him and they ended up bumping into him.

"'Scuse me," he groaned simply, pushing his way passed them and continuing on his way. He was lucky they hadn't tried to start anything with him for that.

"What a jerk," one of the men said. "Should watch where he's going next time."

"Yo, is that…?"

"No, it couldn't be."

"I'm telling you, it looks just like him!" Rock came to a sudden stop as the alcohol in his system quickened his pulse.

"Why don't you say that to my face?" he asked loudly. He turned around on the spot to face them. Judging by their expressions, they either hadn't heard a word he had said due to his slurred speech or they were unsure how to proceed. "Come on, don't be shy! Come on over and say it again." One of the men grabbed the other and started to drag him away as they decided it wasn't worth their time to give in to the Japanese man's provocations. "That's it, walk away, then!" Rock called after them. "Walk away like everyone else! What's the matter, too scared to get close in case you get poisoned?! Wouldn't be the first time. Couple of tough guys like you, I figured you-!" He hadn't even noticed them turn around and come towards him until one of their fists met his stomach and sent the air from his lungs. The attacker's second hand held Rock up by his hair and the other man restrained his hands behind his back.

"You think you're better than everyone else, don'tcha?!" the man who had punched him growled. There was a second punch to the same place and Rock's body could resist no more. He vomited the contents of his stomach onto the path. Suffice it to say, it was mostly rum and pizza. The man continued his assault, eventually focusing on Rock's face. The Japanese man was sent reeling from the second stranger's arms and he found himself at the opening of an alleyway, beaten and bloody. But it didn't stop there. The second man took his chance to cause some pain and started kicking the already injured Rock.

"Ain't so tough without that Chinese bitch around to protect you, huh?!" His attacks became so relentless that Rock almost couldn't feel them anymore after a time, not until the two men picked him up and threw him into the alleyway. Then, they walked away without another word.

Rock lay there, splayed out on the ground like a starfish covered in his own blood. He coughed a few times, bloody spittle trickling down the sides of his face. At least he felt a bit more sober, now. He took a deep breath and it was like he was taken out of his own body to stand by the road and watch what had become of him. This was his lowest point. He had been living in a state of constant calm, bolstered by the idea that he had built a reputation for himself in Roanapur. It seemed as though nobody would dare to trifle with him for fear of invoking his wrath. He thought he was feared. Maybe he was, and those two thugs just lost their tempers when he began taunting them, losing themselves in the emotion. But Rock did not think so. It was written on the wall for him, the reputation he once had meant very little anymore. That was not to downplay how dangerous he could be, but it seemed that the rest of the city was keenly aware that he no longer gambled with the lives of others, which was what made him such a dangerous individual in the first place. In his newfound freedom through apathy and callousness, he had lost his edge. Rock tried to move into a sitting position and roared out in pain as he did so, the wounds inflicted by the two men at their worst, now. He wiped the blood from his mouth and stared out at the road. Though he was engulfed by the darkness looking out, the road was sprinkled with light from above.

I don't want you pulling another stunt like you did in Tokyo. You understand? Because I gotta say, I'm getting tired of saving your ass.

"You weren't here to save me this time, Revy," Rock groaned to himself through gritted teeth. He held his side as he spoke, the pain spreading through him. "I told you I wasn't going to put you in danger for me, anymore. And I kept my promise. It's…better this way."

(***)

Dutch pulled the car in outside the apartment and stepped out, grabbing the envelope full of paperwork as he did so. He didn't recognise the man who was leaning against the wall, but he sure was staring at Dutch. Lagoon Company's leader started to make his way towards the door.

"If you're here about a job, you can call us on the phone," he said flippantly. "We don't take home visits."

"Not here on business," the stranger said in his southern American accent. "Pleasure, I guess you'd call it." Dutch sighed as he anticipated what was already an uncomfortable conversation. He made his way over to the man, the envelope under one arm.

"Do I know you?"

"Not yet. Name's Jones. Pleasure to finally meet ya."

"Noted. Mind telling me what it is you want?" Dutch was in no mood for trouble today, and this stranger was dripping with unclear intent. There was a smell in the air, too, one Dutch was familiar with but could not place right now.

"Don't gotta be like that," Jones told him, producing a cigarette and lighting it. He offered one to Dutch, who refused. "I'm new in town, see? And I don't rightly know my ass from my elbow, if you get my meaning. Figured the best place to begin was by seeking out my fellow Americans. Damn few of us around here, I gotta say."

"You'd be surprised," Dutch told him.

"You don't say?" Jones asked with peculiar inquisitiveness. "You wouldn't happen to know whereabouts I could find them? I'd be much obliged if you could."

As he lifted the cigarette to his lips, the collar of his shirt moved and the sun bounced off of something shiny. Dutch saw the dog tags around his neck and he knew now why he was here, or at least he had an idea. He did not say anything else.

"You know, I've been hearing things around this city. Talk of some soldier boys here and there. Deserters. Nothing more cowardly than abandoning your own men on the field of battle. Damn unconscionable, if you ask me. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would ya Dutch?" Lagoon's leader clenched his fist, but he did not rise to the bait. He was smarter than that.

"Worst thing about rumours," he began, "is that they're like weeds. They'll grow from anything at all, even bullshit. And if you let them, they'll just keep growing and growing, until you take the bullshit away and destroy them…root and stem." Jones eyed him for a moment, then his sternness turned to amusement and he started laughing. Content to question Dutch no more, he dropped the cigarette and started to walk away.

"Thanks for the talk," he called back over his shoulder. "I hope we meet again soon, I really do. But until we do…you watch your back, now."