The port of Schiavo was a thing of wonder, for them the island looked more port than land as wooden structures laid sprawled over the sea and reached out like waiting hands towards the incoming ships. It was a giant of splinters and nails that made its living from the sea, from every vessel that brought cargo from the most distant spaces of the Blues, there were frigates freeing pinnaces loaded to the brim with crates and men, some of them so very heavy they were a scarce few fingers away from the water. Those were the people that cursed in every language they knew when someone went by them making waves. Like the Beatriz and her crew were doing.
"Go!" bellowed Martina as she aimed their prow fatally close to the thumb of one of the wooden hands.
Nicolas muttered a prayer and made a holy sign over his heart as he took off the deck of the ship before turning around and shouldering the schooner back, barely feeling the metal plate of the spine and its rivets as he armoured his skin and let it be safe from chafing and bruises. The worst part of being able to lift heavy things was that when people needed something, they made way for you and gave you a smile as they asked and thanked you before you could say otherwise. Not that he would throw his sister to the wharf and let her do this kind of things but still he would complain, if for time's sake at least.
"We need a better way of mooring, sis," he spoke as he pressed his fingers against the crook of his shoulder. There was no pain there, it was just to soften her a bit.
"We could shoot hooks from our cannons too, if you are tired of it. Tiny ones, so that we don't break the wood too much," her ideas lately seemed to revolve around shooting. All unacceptable, of course, but she still thought of them out loud.
"Let's try to get better at eyeing distance first,"
"I can do that already. Thing we need to do is eyeing where we will stop," she quipped just as a lad, thin as a nail and with a sense of too much energy and too wild an eye, came to them. He was all smiles that didn't reach his eyes and didn't show a tooth, a polite mask.
"Welcome. Welcome. Welcome. Welcome to Schiavo, the Island of merchantry and commerce and everything in between-" he started, his arms open wide as if to hug the both of them before Martina interrupted him.
"They are synonyms half head. They mean the same thing," she gave him a snort as his face crumbled a little, but the kid took well to the scat and ignored it completely, continuing his introduction.
"My name is Merol. I manage the rest and care of ships and boats and all vessels docked in our beautiful port, me and mine are the most reputable people you will find to take care of your ship while you take care of your business in the island," his hand coming to the front and rubbing his thumb against his index in a gesture that was universal across worlds.
Martina looked less than enthused by the idea, in point of fact, she looked very ready to throw the man into the sea while he kept smiling and waiting for them as if there was not a thing that could go wrong with his speech. Nicolas could only shake his head.
"And if we don't want you or yours near our ship?" she growled, that angry fire of a voice she used on the stupid felt almost scorching.
Merol opened his eyes a crack, narrow and bad as an arrow slit, and he spoke low and hard as if he had an army behind him instead of open sea. "Well, that's not how things work here. Everyone pays, then we pay and everyone is happy. Just buy your peace, only thing for free here is trouble,"
Nicolas saw that storm that was in his sister's eyes, so he grabbed her before she could drown the boy and put a couple bills in his hand, his eyes hard on him and daring him to complain about the amount. And when he was about to, he allowed a sip of aura to leak, a smidgen of weight that rested on his shoulders and made him pause and think better. He didn't like it, didn't like pressing people like that, but he knew he would like it less if he let Martina keep arguing and have them marked in the first port they got to. He just wanted to celebrate, just that.
They made their way away from their ship, never really knowing if they were leaving the wharf behind or just walking to another one of the giant's hands as everyone was forced to pack themselves tight, lest they spill over the narrow planks and end up in the sea and under a mooring ship. But going from the sounds and screams that came from time to time, that was a common occurrence round here. The worst part wasn't the tight feeling of the press of bodies, or the heat, or the sweat, no, the worst were the hard bellowing merchants with their grubby hands trying to force you to look at their wares. The yammering beggars that were thin as straw that broke his heart, ringing their metal cups with their pitiful coins like bells that sunk his conscience one ring at a time. And the rough handed, rough faced dockers snarling and frowning and cursing at every person that came close, at every knot that was done wrong, and at every rope that was thrown their way.
It seemed that his hopes of a wondrous voyage were more wondrous than the trip so far.
Martina was still sore by the extortion at the docks, chaffed at the pride when he didn't let her chew the boy and she made it plenty clear.
"You gave him too much money,"
"Maybe, but we aren't fighting thanks to that,"
"That rat bastard is going to think he can walk all over us now. He is going to try bill us again," he could almost imagine his sister frothing at the thought of paying for something twice.
"No, he isn't. He said he payed as well, meaning he has someone watching over his shoulder trying to keep him from going overboard,"
"Oh please, he isn't a banker, he could scarcely count, he is a toy soldier from some gang or something of the like. They thrive off others, like leeches and tapeworms," spat Martina with as much disgust as she could muster. If there was something that simply burned her was being looked down upon, being underestimated was poison and fire for her and not something she forgot about easily.
"Martina. You've seen too many movies," he said, dismissing the idea. Not out of meanness or anything of the like but because paranoia was the last thing he needed, having another thing to slowly cook his nerves over when they should be feasting about having completed the first piece of their journey. He hugged her with one arm as he spoke.
"He was just making a coin out of the port, he isn't going to touch us here in the city. We aren't even going to see him until we go back, so can we just relax tonight? I want to enjoy this peace at least,"
She sniffed and raised her chin, and he didn't know if she was offended by the state of the island or by his words until she rolled her eyes and let her grin show through, Loco climbing back to her shoulders when he felt she wasn't in a foul mood no more.
"Fine! But you pay, I need something to blame for still feeling like I am on deck and on a rough sea," grabbing him by the shoulder she barged into the first inn they found and bellowed with barely held anticipation, "Wine!"
Nicolas stared at the swinging tower of plates that he had piled on a table the owner had been nice enough to pull near them, he was full like a tanker and just as happy. To enjoy something other than fish and fish and clams and sea food was a blessing for him, he was sick and tired of the monotony of their dishes, of the limited variety he could bring to their plates and was deeply ashamed that he had been forced to serve the same food twice. If only his sister could have just enjoyed the meal in peace, with a quiet chat and perhaps each discreetly finding someone to enjoy the rest of the night, but no.
No.
He turned and looked at her as she held a bottle by the neck, singing softly to the lips of it and he wanted to roll his eyes as she started to include the other guests in her songs. Playfully smacking a man's arm with the compliment of the song and making him blush or hit his chest in pride, kissing her palm and pressing it against a boy that must have been in his first trip just like them. Not so playfully smacking the back of the head of a guy that touched her behind, his head bouncing against the table and going back to sitting straight once again. He made sure to remember that one's face, because he was going to have to answer a couple of questions.
Martina was not done then, she retreated to a dark corner for some theatre as everyone looked at her. Before strutting out with the exaggerated sway of a drunk, she swung to one side and people made to catch her and she jumped over them, not once breaking her singing. He felt like going elsewhere, maybe another bar, but he worried what she would do if left alone. Trouble, more than likely, trouble seemed like the only answer as two men came towards her.
[O.o]
Coltello came out from the riot that was the first street of the island and came upon an alley blocked by trash and dregs and wood stacked high to make a roof, he kicked everything apart. Tore it away and freed the path, he looked down and saw the leg of his pants had been scratched by a nail or some other thing that also caught him across the shin. Today was that kind of days, the kind that you set out with every intention of doing well and fate shows you just how bloody wrong you were about it. His split lip throbbed at the thought, swollen and red just like his shame, one of his men handed him a handkerchief when they saw blood began spilling again.
He burned remembering how it was broken by his own father, he was his blood and he had struck him down for trying to set the scum of this place right. For making a man apologize for speaking ill of his father and then showing him what happened when you didn't watch your mouth. He had seen him eye to eye and backhanded him with his ring crusted hand, had grabbed him by the scruff and said, 'the words of the weak are dust to all, Coltello, nobody cares what an idiot has to say. But actions are different, they stick with us, mould our image in their heads. How will I go about doing business if people think I can't even keep my own son on a leash? Never again act on my part, never justify something thinking I will like it because that chance is not much more than fantasy, understood?'
He spat another glob of blood as he thought about his father, about his cold face looking at him as if he was his biggest mistake and did nothing but bring shame as he grew when all he did was for the family. All he did was keep the masses from thinking low of them, but it wasn't what he wanted and it seemed he no longer trusted him to even walk on his own, he thought as he turned his head to look at his father's personal bodyguard keeping her distance from them. Her black skin shined like agate whenever she stepped into the light of the Den lamps, her hair was a riot of braids and tangles and curls that were weighed down by coins twisted and plied together at the end of each. And he hated her. Hated how she always looked like she was looking at someone that had nothing to do with her, even thought she worked for his family. How she never deigned to look at him outside of his meetings with his father, and how he always knew she was there through the jingle that her steps made, like a hundred hundred marbles hitting each other.
The four of them came upon the Prancing Prawn, a shit hole as big and dirty as the rest of the ones lining up the streets of the border with the docks. He chose somewhere away from where he would be seen by those he knew, those that liked to call themselves his friends and suck at his wallet, he couldn't be seen like this. Not after having partied all night last night after his deal in Triesto had gone so very well, after he had gotten his hands on that small coffer he had wanted to gift his father, he spat again, it would be his now then and a pox on the man.
"Ah, Mr. Mondo, we weren't expecting someone so respectable in our little establishment. You do us an honour," the owner gushed a stream of polite words that he would have answered in kind any other day, but not today.
"I do. Give us a table on the first floor," he spoke drily and strode in without waiting for the man to regain his wits.
"Anything you would like to eat? We have pasta with a sea food sauce that is simply delightful,"
"No. Give us ale and wine and rum and leave us,"
Diena, his father's hired hand, sat away from them on another table, a whole lot of furniture in between them as if she couldn't handle being put together with them. And the drink turned even more sour as he thought of it, as her disrespect swivelled around his spoiled mind. It just wasn't fair, to have every piece of effort spat on and rejected ever since he could understand what his father's cold eyes held for him. He looked down and at those on the lower level and set to look someone to spend his time with, he was shit in everyone's head and that was fine by him, it meant he could do what he wished since he wouldn't sink lower. And if he did? Well, damn them then.
Eyes capturing a figure that stood in the gloom of the building, her face and body hidden in the places were the Den lamps and their shining eyes couldn't reach. When he looked around he realized he wasn't the only one, every other person was glued to her, waiting in silent patience for her to do something. And when she did move it looked like the wind had caught her, her body swinging like she was caught in its claws and was its prisoner, her bare feet fleeting over the green rotten boards like doves over the trees. She was beautiful like few and hypnotic as none other.
"Don't even try it. You will get hurt," Diena whispered from the other side of the room, as if guessing his mind. She must have known all along that he would do something of the like, known it all along even though it was the first time he even entertained the idea.
"You aren't here to advise me and if it was up to me you wouldn't be here at all," he snarled with the poison that had infected him from the shame and hurt that had become his companion for that night.
She just shook her head, coins ringing and jingling against each other as Balo went down the stairs with an easy gait, fingers locked behind his back as he jumped down two steps at a time while Tero followed him, careful of not missing a single step, hands gripped tight on the rail.
[O.o]
Nicolas sopped a piece of bread on the remaining sauce in his plate as he watched the men walking down the stairs and making a bee line towards Martina. He tasted the ink in the sauce and the grainy texture of the bread as they came face to face with her and put the plate with crumbs and remains on the floor for Loco. His chair shrieked against the floor as he drew it near to them so that he could hear them speak and see if he had to step in. Sharpening his ears while looking at the floor he heard them speak as the cat sniffed at the remains with disdain and pushed it away.
"We hope you are having a lovely night, lady. We are from the Mondo family and you are?"
"Oh my, such good manners. The name is Martina, what you need boys?" she smiled innocently at them as she changed the grip on her bottle so that it was easier to break it on someone's head. He would try to interrupt before it came to that.
"Well, we don't need a thing. It's just our boss was so taken by your singing he wanted to invite you upstairs, for a private act, would you be so kind as to follow us please?" the bundle of twigs with a beany said as he bowed and used an arm to show her to the stairs. But Martina wasn't that compliant, he couldn't remember a time she ever was, she grabbed the boy's chin with two fingers and made him raise before giving him two soft slaps like a grandmother would a child and shook her head.
"Sorry boys, but everyone here is taken with me as well. Can't leave for one and leave so many wanting, now can I?" beany man was red with anger now and the other boy wasn't so far behind in colour. And he took it as the moment to play peace keeper as he sighed deep and mournfully.
Standing behind her he looked down upon the two of them, one hand resting on one of his sister's shoulders before he spoke deep and rumbling like every other time he had seen men trying to force her with them.
"Martina, let's go back to the table. Your plate must be cold already," he said as he looked at the both of them in the eyes in turn, his jaw clicking finally with the sound of a lock closing and beany and follower looked at him maybe measuring their chances or maybe not sure what to do next.
"But I was talking to them and singing, can't leave an audience waiting," and there was a grin in her eyes, enjoying everything that was happening and hoping it would end up in a brawl.
"You will sing upstairs next, so let's go," Nicolas felt the vein in his neck surface as the bundle of twigs tried to grab his sister's arm, felt the man's muscles groan as he caught him in one hand and lifted him by the wrist so that they could talk face to face. It was his sister that they were trying to manhandle, his sister damn it.
"Try to touch her again and you will find out how cold the sea is tonight," he heard a little whistle go on behind him and a little clapping from Martina and he knew he would be getting a theatre out of it for months to come.
"Let him go! Let him go! He is from the Mondo family you idiots!" bellowed the owner as he tried to lower his arm by jumping up and down in a frenzy. Behind him the other one had pulled a knife and tried to stab him with the man still in front, he pulled him aside and took the blade in his side, reinforced with Tekkai and armoured in Haki the steel broke against his skin and the gang member was left with just a hilt.
That's it, he thought as he let go and grabbed twigs by the chest and used him to club the other into submission. Try to stab me, did you? Try to take my sister, did you? Think we are yours, don't you?
"You crazy bastard! Those were the men of the Mondo family's son, you crossed him! In my tavern!" he wailed and grabbed the few strands of hair he had left as he looked at the heap Nicolas had made.
Martina strutted forward and kicked one in the leg and heard him groan, she scratched her head as she looked at the owner and said, "we are new around here. One name move us as much as the next," and with that she put her boots back on, wore her cat around her shoulders as usual and made to leave. Nicolas looked at the two men he had injured, throat a little dry now, and took out several bills put some in their hands and some under the plates and with that he left.
Bad manners to leave without paying, bad for the conscience to leave people hurt and not paying for the hospital. And all wrong comes around, he thought.
Sweeties, here is the update. Want to hear what you think about the story! Am I taking the magic of One Piece with my story telling or am I changing it? Do the characters feel like people or are they bland? Speak and I shall harken.
