"What is this?" The tall, dark-skinned woman demanded, shaking a pink paper in her hand. A scowl wrinkled Opera's usually elegant visage.
Vetica stood in the woman's blue office. She looked out through the window overlooking Marie Joie's naval base. It had been a few weeks since, the incident that made Bartolomeo the "Cannibal" a major rookie.
She had received a promotion just as expected; she was now allowed to publish editorials. Her name spread throughout the Grand Line as the victim of Bartolomeo's ruthless appetite, and the articles she wrote of her tale had all landed front page spots. Of course, there had been some downsides as well…
Opera had put her on a travel probation and required her to go to counseling every week. Vetica still had nightmares of watching people burn, and her relationship with Rider could only be described as "rocky" at best. Which brought her to this moment.
"I'm not sure," Vetica replied calmly.
Opera's brows shot up as she slammed the paper on the desk in front of her.
"Okay. We'll play that game," Opera said, leaning back in her chair. "That is Rider's request for transfer."
Vetica's body felt cold. She had guessed that it was something involving her friend and knew that he was mad at her, but she didn't expect him to take it that far.
The other woman nodded as she studied her expression. "So he didn't tell you…"
Vetica looked down. "No m'am."
Opera cleared her throat, demanding the girl's attention. Vetica snapped back to face her and watched as Opera leaned across the desk.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with that pirate, would it?" She asked in a hushed, almost warning, tone.
Vetica didn't answer. She averted her eyes; Opera's dark gaze was not called the "compeller of truths" for no reason.
"Rider is a tech of outstanding moral fiber. I'm sure he would not leave a friend who had been so victimized without reason."
Vetica's mind raced. If she remained silent for much longer, Opera would only be more suspicious. She ruffled her hair and threw her head back towards the ceiling.
"I don't know," she said, letting the actual nervousness she felt escape. "He hasn't really talked to me since we escaped. Maybe it's guilt… I don't know."
Opera sighed and stood. Walking to the far side of the room which held many picture frames full of news clippings featuring images of famous pirates. Vetica watched her gently lift a hand to touch one frame.
"I've always felt you were very bright, Vetica," the woman murmured. "Brave, eloquent, ambitious… Very much like myself when I first started out."
Silence passed between them, as Opera stroked a picture's edge.
"Did I ever tell you about how I made my name?"
Vetica shifted her weight uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like she had been transported back to university.
"You were the first to report about the king of the pirates," she droned.
Opera whipped around, a fox like grin gracing her lips.
"No," she corrected her. "I made the king of the pirates."
Vetica grimaced, suddenly feeling a gnawing suspicion about what was coming next.
"You see," the woman said, gliding over to a pirate's sword which hung on the. She carefully removed it. "A pirate without a name, no matter how much treasure they have, upon death, is just a common criminal."
With a flourish, she pantomimed slitting her throat. Vetica shivered. Opera once again sheathed the sword and returned it to the wall.
However," she continued. "Give a pirate a name, then… then they become a legend."
She then gestured to the wall behind Vetica. Vetica turned to see, framed in iron, the wanted poster of Gold Roger.
The young woman could feel sweat beginning to pool on the back of her neck.
"I don't think he ever forgave me for changing his name," Opera said, wistfully, coming to her side. "But nobody was going remember a man named 'Gol'. Sounds like a bird, utterly ridiculous…"
She smiled. "But 'Gold'… Now that's a name that could rule the world."
The parallel between Opera's story and Vetica's own experience was becoming painfully clear.
Opera then placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing Vetica to face her.
"So you see," she whispered. "I don't care if you tell me that man berated you or murdered your entire family. You do what you have to do to sell papers."
The woman then scooped the pink sheet off her desk and shoved it into Vetica's chest.
"But you better fix this."
Vetica quietly accepted the paper from her handler and gulped, knowing that the task ahead of her was not going to be easy.
"Yes, m'am."
Then Opera made her way back to her seat. She picked up a small stack of documents and waved a hand towards the door.
"You may go."
Once Vetica had made it back to her room, she collapsed onto the bed with a groan. She took a moment to compose herself before clamoring over to where her snail, Shea, slept. She picked up the snail's receiver and stroked its head.
Slowly the snail's eyes opened.
"Call Rider," she ordered.
The snail rang. Vetica could feel frustration begin to set in with each dial tone. Then finally there was an answer.
"Hello?"
His voice sounded groggy, despondent. The snails eyes were barely half open in what appeared to be a scowl.
"Rider it's me-"
He hung up.
Vetica slammed the receiver back down before giving Shea an apologetic pat. Then she began to make her way towards the male barracks.
Free lodging in government buildings was one of the many privileges awarded to badge holders, which was the only thing that made it remotely possible for their headquarters to be located in such a place as Marie Joie. There was no way that any of the reporters or tech could afford to live in the gilded streets; even if they did have the money, it was too risky. There were many horror stories of reporters being shot or enslaved because of interacting with a Celestial Dragon.
As she passed a group of marines she finally spotted the sign she was looking for.
She opened the door.
Rider looked up at her from his desk where he was working on equipping a transponder snail of some kind. He had pronounced dark circles under his eyes, and his usually flushed, round face was wan. Vetica could feel a tight knot form in her stomach. She suddenly began to wonder if the man had eaten in days. Did he suffer the same nightmares that she still had of that day? He certainly looked like he did.
A flash of resentment clearly crossed Rider's face, and turned his attention back to his work.
"You shouldn't be over in this wing," he grumbled.
"It's not as if it's illegal," she shot back.
Vetica looked around the room. There were papers scattered everywhere. Hung upon the wall was a picture, which the woman recognized as one they had taken together, with her face scribbled out in black ink.
"That's a bit harsh," she commented.
Rider let out scoff. "What? Harsh like murdering people?"
Vetica's heart stopped. She quickly glanced behind her for marines. No one.
She let out a sigh and closed the door. "I didn't kill anyone."
"Fine. Harsh like asking a psychopath to murder people for you... whatever."
A surge of irritation flooded over Vetica. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. It was times like this that she questioned why Rider had even decided to go into the journalism field. He had way too many morals for this job, probably why he had stayed in the Assistant track when Opera had offered to have them both transferred over to reporting. However, his morals were also one of the things that made her respect him.
"They were pirates, Rider," she murmured.
"That doesn't make it better," he replied, seeming to calm down a little bit. "You'd be upset if something happened to that green-haired piece of garbage, wouldn't you?"
Vetica's face grew warm. "He's different..."
"He's not-," Rider started to say.
"He is. Because he listens to me."
Rider looked up at her. His brown eyes were cold. Vetica stiffened up.
"Don't fool yourself," he said. "He's listened to you so far because you've been helping him, but the second he wants something from you, he's going to treat you exactly the way he's treated everybody else he's terrorized."
Vetica wanted to argue with him. She wanted to say he was wrong and that she was in control, but the memory of the Bartolomeo had grinned during the execution burned in her mind. Rider was right; Bartolomeo could have just as easily killed the two of them along with those men if that was his desire. But the pirate's concern for her safety had seemed so genuine... It made her head feel so muddled.
Rider picked up the transponder snail, and placed on the other side of the room with several others. "Did Opera tell you I petitioned for transfer?"
Vetica looked away from him. "Yeah. She said I should try to make things right with you..."
There was a moment of silence. Vetica could feel sweat beginning to pool on the back her neck. These types of conversations were definitely not her forte.
"She doesn't want to lose you," She continued. "You're good at your job, and I don't think I could get another tech to work with me without it being weird. They think I'm difficult."
She heard something like a snort come from Rider. "That's the understatement of the century."
She glanced back to see him bent over the bed, folding something that looked like more papers. Her brows knit themselves in confusion before he straightened up and turned around. He approached her and held out an envelope. His face was devoid of any emotion.
Vetica's heart froze. This was it. He was really leaving her. He shoved the envelope at her. She grabbed it and threw it on the ground.
"Fine! I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through all that, but I'm not going to apologize for what I did. If you wanted an unambitious reporter to work with you could have left a long time ago. Don't ditch me now, after everything we've been through"
Rider stared at her for a minute before shaking his head and picking the letter up. He then went over to the picture. With his thumb he wiped the dark ink scribble over her face. It disappeared.
"There. Was that hard," he said, smiling as he turned around.
Vetica was too shocked and confused to answer. All she could do was accept as he forced the letter into her hands once more.
"Give that to Opera," he said. "It's my letter of apology and intent to cancel my transfer request..."
Vetica's eyes grew wide. Her heartbeat raced. Tears began to threaten her eyes. She looked up at him. She wasn't sure whether to be angry or ecstatic. "But... I scarred you... Weren't you mad at me? I murdered those people... I..."
He shrugged. "I was, but then I remembered you've taken me face to face with death before... just the first time you've been involved in it."
He then placed a hand on her shoulder. Vetica looked into his eyes; they were much darker now.
"I still haven't fully forgiven you for killing those guys. Even if you do seem to have a conscience about it," he said. "If Bartolo-shitbag wants to do it on his own time that's his own business, but I don't want you to put any more blood on your hands."
Vetica nodded. "That's fair."
Rider then patted her on the head and opened the door. "Now tell the boss I'm sticking around a bit longer."
"You're gonna get us in trouble," Rider hissed, his voice cracking with signs of puberty.
Vetica shushed him with a warning motion and crept into the dark dressing room of the Academy. The rows of make-up and styling tools inside were a privilege reserved for the talent track students only. Slowly and quietly, the thirteen year-old girl went about selecting her make-up by lantern light. Once she had a good array she took a seat at one of the large mirrors.
Reluctantly, after a few seconds, Rider joined her. He took the seat beside her and watched as Vetica attempted to pull her hair back. He sighed and grabbed the brush from her, eliciting a flurry of explicit protests from the younger girl. He seized a handful of her frizzy dark hair and began to brush.
"You have to get all the knots in the back out before you can brush the rest," he muttered. After a couple strokes of the brush, Vetica relaxed, letting him pull her hair into a ponytail. She began to open the lipstick, but a sharp tug on the hair from Rider stopped her. "Just let me do it."
A few minutes later Rider moved out of the way to allow Vetica to see her reflection in the mirror. She stood and leaned over the countertop, speechless as she admired the pretty girl that stared back at her.
"Not bad," Rider said, crossing his arms.
"What are you two doing here?" A woman gasped.
Rider and Vetica both stared up in horror at the dark-skinned woman, who seemed just as horrified to see them. The woman looked the girl over.
"What's your name?" She demanded.
Vetica looked down, and bit her lip, considering a lie. However, the woman's face was stern and intelligent. It would only be a matter of time before the woman found out the truth, and that would get Vetica in even more trouble.
"Fuller Vetica," she said.
"Assistant track, right?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
The woman nodded, before glancing over at Rider who was frozen like a startled deer. There was something softer about her expression as she looked him over as well. She took a deep breath.
"Very well," she said. "Put the stuff up and go to bed. You know this area's off limits."