Jacques Baucus, the Drunken Pirate, threw open the doors of the distillery and stepped out into the bracing twilight air. Behind him lay the prone figures of men who had believed themselves a match for the scurrilous seafarer, either in terms of strength or drinking capacity. As usual, he had proven the error of their ways. Not for nothing was the captain of the Bourbon Pirates sporting a bounty of over a quarter of a million belli. You didn't get that sort of cheddar attached to you for knocking over candy stores, Jacques thought gleefully.
Pacing along the docks of this crazy little port in East Blue, the fearsome pirate hummed a melody to himself. Despite having quaffed enough alcohol to render most men comatose and hooked up to life support systems, his confident swagger was as straight and true as a sober scholar's. At only 23 years of age, he had risen to command his own crew of reckless scallywags, all of them as devoted to the bottle as himself. After proving themselves in battle against four other pirate ships and two Marine vessels, the Bourbon Pirates were heading in the direction of Loguetown and the marvelous adventures that must surely await them there. The door to the Grand Line was a gathering place for any man willing to test his mettle on that most arduous of seas, and his merry band had been thrilled to learn of their leader's intention to risk all their inebriated hides on such a quest.
"Spare change, son?"
A scruffy old beggar spoke from his position slumped along the quay. Jacques spared the indigent only a contemptuous glance in passing, tugging up the collar of his black suede cape. There certainly were a lot of homeless people in this town. Even pirates found themselves accosted by the rabble when coming into port.
His crew had gone to commandeer supplies and pick up any information they could. Supposedly this port of Cūncan had something of a reputation. In addition to being a hotspot for vacationing students, it was widely known that the Marines here boasted an amazingly high capture rate in terms of bounties. Jacques had felt it would be a good parting shot to East Blue for them to court that danger prior to abandoning these waters. Just to let everyone know that he and his mates didn't respect any sort of law save for that of the Jolly Roger. Plunder and battle; that was the name of the game.
"Mister, care to buy some flowers?"
This time it was a waif of a girl, holding her bouquets out with what she no doubt believed to be a beseeching expression. The aspiring legend paid her no more mind than the twenty other earnest cherubs he had seen since this afternoon. It wasn't his style to go out of his way for anyone who couldn't offer him a stiff drink or a rousing night of passion. He passed on, and the flower girl went back to waiting for her next potential sucker.
The brouhaha at the last bar hadn't served to bring the local gendarmes in what Jacques considered a suitable hurry, so he had decided to hit several of the taverns and see if they could play catch-up. Say what you would about this tourist trap, it certainly boasted an inordinately high number of drinking establishments. A little more in the way of action and a man might call this place ho…
"Want to buy a painting, Jacques?"
The sound of his name made him turn his head, and he saw…
Colors.
Vivid emeralds and dark forest greens swirling around a canvas, the whirlpool of rich intoxicating hues laced with a magnificent gold that was more enticing than any doubloon or piece-of-eight he had ever let fall from between his fingers. Reaching out to grasp the cloth-wrapped board, Baucus felt himself absolutely enamored by this blend of exotic hues. It was like the hypnotic dance that sometimes occurred when making a mixed drink, watching all those different liquors twisting and spiraling in the clear container, their alcoholic potency enhanced to an unhealthy degree. The rich amber of rum, the tantalizing viridian of midori. There could be no more absolutely breathtaking sight than this, and the awestruck outlaw struggled to find the right words to describe it. Something like…
"Emerald Avarice."
Yeah. That was it. Hit the nail right on the head.
Dumbstruck by art, Jacques hardly noticed when something wet touched his hand. At that moment, he was suddenly filled with the most splendid and empty-headed friendliness. As if on cue, someone spoke a command to him then.
"Go straight to the local Marine HQ and turn yourself in. Don't forget to tell them to put the reward in my account. The number is 231894." There then came a crunching sound, like someone biting into a pretzel. "Cooperate with the Marines. That's all. You can go now."
The Drunken Pirate proceeded to do exactly as he had been told. His dream of grand adventure on the high seas came to an end that day. The Marines made sure not to smudge the brown symbol painted on his hand. Acting according to instructions, Jacques Baucus cooperated with the local law enforcement to lay a trap for his own men, and one week later he was hanged along with the rest of the Bourbon Pirates.
The Marines of Cūncan sent the fund for his capture to their mysterious benefactor. In this way, their arrest rate continued to far outstrip most of the military posts in that area, though their superiors could not for the life of them understand how a bunch of lackluster soldiers could fare so well against all these pirates.
The young girl hunkered down by the docks was an artist, as anyone could tell by the way she dressed, in addition to the numerous paintings for sale that lay strewn about her ratty blanket. Her name was Penny, and in spite of being one of the most successful bounty hunters in all of East Blue, she was flat broke.
Her stomach gave a mighty growl. Roused from her nap under the warm tropical sun, the spindly tyke reached out blindly to where she knew her food supply was located. Picking out a rice cracker, she ate it in three bites and then peacefully tucked her head back into her upraised knees.
It wasn't that Penny hadn't been raised well. But she had a dream, was all. That dream was to become a world-renowned artist. It had started out promising enough, with people in her hometown acclaiming her talent and offering advice on how she should go about promoting it. The first step was to go to art school, they told her. Everyone had been very insistent on that. Unfortunately, they hadn't been so free with advice on how she was expected to pay for those schools. Even the meanest, dirtiest, cheapest artistic institutions charged exorbitant fees just for submitting an application. Her parents had lent their daughter 15,000 belli that more than covered the cost to apply at a decent college. They had thought she was bound to get in and would be able to pay them back soon enough.
Penny didn't get in. True, her grades at school were nothing spectacular, probably because she couldn't manage to keep herself awake for anything besides arts and crafts. However, the reason given was that she lacked extracurricular activities other candidates abounded with, like serving soup at homeless shelters and running in marathons to raise money for worthy causes. Penny didn't quite understand this. After all, she wasn't going to college in order to wind up serving people in a restaurant, and her own sedate disposition had never won high marks in gym class. She just wanted to be an artist. It was the only thing that interested her. She resolved to use her remaining funds to book passage to a more populated island where she could sell her paintings and raise enough money to try again.
As luck would have it, the ship she was on ran into some trouble at sea. Particularly, pirates. The bloodthirsty riffraff had swarmed aboard under cover of fog and proceeded to overwhelm the small contingent of soldiers. They then rounded up the passengers and went about robbing them. Penny hadn't been impressed by the idea of losing all her remaining funds. And so, she woke up just long enough to utilize her particular gift to turn all the invaders against one another, precipitating a slaughter awash in the colors of Betrayal Black and Bull's-eye Red.
No one else aboard could explain precisely what had happened, and Penny was fast asleep by the time a Marine escort arrived in answer to their distress call. She arrived at her new home of Cūncan without further incident. There she learned that the life of a struggling artist was not an easy one. Galleries demanded unreasonable sums to showcase your work, and the party-hardy students who besieged this port several times a year harbored designs on her that had nothing to do with purchasing art. Her talents kept her safe and unmolested, but money was still an issue.
The idea came to her while she was down by the pier examining some of the colorful bounty pictures posted near her unofficial exhibition spot. A scuffle broke out between several Marines and a handful of pirates close by. The lawmen were severely trounced, and watching this reminded Penny of her experience before reaching this island. That combined with the sums listed on the wanted posters started her thinking. Making up her mind, the mystic craftswoman decided that she would supplement her nonexistent income by defeating pirates. With her small stringy frame, red-amber pigtails and slightly spaced-out demeanor, it never occurred to her that she might not exactly fit the bill of what people imagined when they thought 'bounty hunter'. But it wouldn't have mattered either way. She had already seen for herself that it could be done, and in no time at all, the town of Cūncan had itself a guardian angel.
A penniless angel.
Capturing her targets wasn't the problem. Penny had a near-perfect memory when it came to faces, and apparently none of them expected a girl her size to constitute a threat. She had a system worked out that didn't require her to exert herself much, and the bounties kept sailing in and tying their ships up for her. But it was still just a side job. And a pretty boring one at that. Nothing like creating masterpieces. Her dream remained alive, and the vast majority of those funds received went towards it. Renting galleries in museums and exhibition studios, sending in applications to every competition and art school she could find, purchasing quality materials to mix her paints: all these things cost money. A lot of money. And while the World Government was generous with its rewards, it seemed like it was never enough. Plus all this business of tailing folks was cutting into her free time, not to mention being very tiring. On more than one occasion she had simply given up on a promising bounty because she couldn't keep up with them. No problem, but it wasn't like major pirate figures tended to pass by here every day. Penny recalled how disappointed she had been to learn that she had slept through a visit by Shanks, captain of the Red-Haired Pirates and one of the Yonkou. If she could have caught him, then all her troubles would be…
A shadow passed over her. Blinking, Penny glanced up from beneath her pink sun-bonnet.
The sight of a tall figure in a red duster and black cowboy hat made her rub her eyes in disbelief.
Reaching under one of her paintings, she retrieved a small stack of arrest notices. These were the ones that sported some of the highest figures in the world, and Penny had wanted to be certain she didn't forget them. Thumbing quickly through, she finally picked out the one that confirmed what her memory told her.
Staring out of that picture was the face of a child younger than herself. It was a twenty-year old photograph, but the resemblance couldn't be ignored. And the bounty…
79 million belli.
Wasting no more time, the bounty hunter picked up her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. She put up her 'Closed' sign, and proceeded to follow her target.
The quarry wasn't in any hurry apparently, which was a big relief, because the difference in their strides meant Penny had to jog just to keep up with her. She didn't try to hide herself when in pursuit, because it took too much energy and usually wound up costing sight of her target. That wasn't going to happen here. The price on that head was too big to ignore. She could buy her own museum with that much money. Then she could make a fortune selling her paintings, go to college, become a great artist, get world-famous, make a fortune, and pay her parents back.
The red ghost she was following had slipped into a crowd of rowdy tourists. It was Golden Week, so the streets were packed, even at this time of day. Penny had to push her way through the throngs, and the press combined with her short height caused her to lose sight of that figure. Slipping adroitly into the open, she peered about for a sign to guide her.
A black hat bobbing along caused her worries to dissipate. It was only for a moment, but that was enough to see the criminal moving into an alleyway. The determined tracker shuffled along, escaping the mob and following that same route. Though winded from all this hustling about, she did not want to regret missing another fabulous prize, and so soldiered on.
Several twists and turns later, and Penny was seriously beginning to wonder if this had been a good idea. But at last her target seemed to have arrived wherever she was going, evidenced by the tall woman opening a door and entering a building down the lane. Grateful that the chase was at last over, her pursuer hopped the rest of the way on aching feet. The door proved to be unlocked. Opening it a crack, she peeked inside, just in case of surprises. When nothing presented itself, she proceeded to enter.
As the portal closed behind her, the amiable artist reached into her bag and produced her easel and brush. A short corridor stretched before her, and as she walked along it, she quickly applied several paints to the wooden board. No telling what a person like this was capable of. After a few seconds, she came out into a high-ceilinged chamber stacked with what appeared to be rolled carpets. The lighting in this storehouse was poor, and she couldn't tell if her bounty-head was anywhere about. Somewhat crestfallen at the thought that she might have to continue the chase, Penny stepped deeper into the room.
The sound of a crashing noise caused her to jump. Glancing back, Penny found that the way she had entered through was now sealed by a stone slab. At the same time this happened, several of the carpets around her began to jerk and twitch, and with brazen roars, they proceeded to burst open, revealing over a dozen powerfully built men. All carried weapons ranging from pistols to cutlasses, and were more than willing to use them by the looks on their grinning faces.
"What, are you kidding me?!" one of them exclaimed. "This is the feared Shadow Hunter of Cūncan?"
"There's gotta be some mistake," another stated uncertainly. "She's just a kid!"
"You want to be the one to tell Miss All-Sunday she was wrong?" A particularly scarred and ugly brute hefted his gleaming axe.
Some of the assailants began to close in around her then. "You don't get anywhere in the Works by second-guessing the higher-ups," a man with a scythe in either hand pronounced. "Let's just test her a bit. If she faints after the first little cut, we'll know there's no threat."
Apparently this proposal met with the approval of his colleagues, and they all moved to surround her.
For her part, Penny didn't really like this set-up one bit. And so, dabbing her horsehair weapon into the medium on her easel, she set to work getting out of it. Applying a quick sketch beneath her, she then turned and raced back the way she came.
"GET HER!" someone laughed, and the first ring of fighters lunged forth with weapons at the ready.
To their surprise, they found themselves stabbing swords and firing bullets not at the girl, but into the red symbol she had drawn onto the floor.
Ducking beneath one man's legs, the emotive artist then set to work. While the rest of them were still gaping in perplexity, she turned back to the ones still immobilized by her Color Trap and mixed a new paint. "Hilarious Yellow."
Three of the henchmen then collapsed on their backs, howling and screaming with laughter.
"Lugubrious Blue." Two more slumped weeping with tears streaming down their faces. "Absurd Orange." One fellow pulled down his pants and went hopping about, flapping his arms and honking like a goose, while three more linked elbows and began to perform a can-can together, singing nursery rhymes at the same time. "Little Miss Muffet/ Sat on a tuffet/ Eating her curds and whey…!"
How many does that leave?
"She's a witch!" someone shrieked.
"KILL HER!"
Several more red targets painted on any available surface, ranging from carpets to peoples' bodies, caused all their shots to go wide. When Penny came up to ascertain her position, the foaming brute with the axe rose behind her, intending to cleave the girl in twain. Instead he felt a tickling below his ribs, and then proceeded to sit and calmly begin braiding his own greasy hair, completely sedated thanks to the green mark on his midsection.
She decided to get more creative then.
"Pink Perversion."
"LEGGO OF ME, YOU FREAK! QUIT LICKING MY EAR!"
"Refined Lavender."
"I will not suffer to work with such odious underlings, I shall take my leave of you, gentlemen."
"Chalk White."
"S-s-s-s-scared…! Help m-m-m-meeeeee!"
"Scarlet Fever."
"I am enflamed with the fires of revolt! Rise and cast off your servitude, comrades! Join the revolution that will bring us all into a fraternity of communal brotherhood!"
The last of them she finished off with a smattering of Betrayal Black and Despondent Gray. When there were no more obstacles to her progress, Penny then made her way over to a door she had noticed tucked into a corner of the room. Leaving the gaggle of goons behind, she proceeded after her original target.
A short flight of stairs led upwards, and upon reaching the top she found herself standing in a long narrow attic. At the end of this space a single window allowed vibrant sunshine to pour in, leaving most of the room in shadow by comparison. There were chests and boxes scattered all around, and she sighed wearily at the thought of more attackers who would no doubt pop up from those concealing vessels. In anticipation of this, she dabbed some red and green onto her brush and prepared to set her first trap.
"You defeated the Billions. Good for you."
"Buddy Brown."
The circle of paint went soaring towards the spot where that voice had come from. It connected with nothing more notable than a wall.
"What an unusual ability you have. It explains so much about your work."
This last comment came from the opposite side of the room as before. Penny peered about a trifle uncertainly now. How did she get over there so fast? I didn't see her move. Maybe she's a ventriloquist. I'd better hurry before she decides to get serious. A few seconds later, the rosy-cheeked Rembrandt had slapped charms for Emerald Avarice and Bull's-eye Red all around her. She then hurried to hide behind one of the crates, peeping over the edge while waiting for the spells to take effect.
There was still no sign of the criminal.
Once again, Penny found herself wondering if she might have gotten in over her head this time. In preparation, she began to blend a truly devastating pigment, Purple Passion.
"I think we've played together enough, though."
A sharp smack to her hand sent the easel flying into the air. Penny gave a yelp and immediately tried to grab it, only to find herself unable to move her feet. As she looked down to see what might be restraining her, strong fingers clamped down on her wrist, causing her to drop her brush.
My Color Traps! How did she get past them?! Why couldn't I…?!
"There, now. Much better."
The woman's voice came from right at her ear. When the auburn-haired pixie turned that way, she at first saw nothing more alarming than a box. But on further consideration, there was something a little unusual to be found there.
Namely, that box was sporting a human mouth. And over this was a pair of deep blue eyes staring right back at her.
Penny opened her own mouth wide to scream, only to be balked by another hand clamped around her jaw. This one was attached to an arm that seemed to be attached to… another arm, which in turn was growing out of the wall.
Terrified beyond anything she had ever known, the girl could only watch as yet another slender appendage emerged from the box before her, to gently wag an admonishing finger in her face. When she managed a trembling nod in understanding, all three of these limbs vanished into what appeared to be flower petals.
"Up we go, little one."
The grip on her feet released at the same time something gave a jerk on the back of her shirt collar. Before she could try to craft an explanation for any of this, Penny found herself hoisted off the ground and pulled up towards the ceiling so fast her hat nearly fell off.
There she came face-to-face with something that made her start to cry like a little baby.
Spread above her was an enormous web. This system was made not of spider-silk, but an interlocking series of human arms. At the center of this nightmarish snare, held protectively in its embrace, was the so-called Demon Child, Nico Robin. Like a hungry black widow, right down to the color scheme, she hung parallel to the floor. But when Penny came up to her level, and the woman's head turned to regard her, she found that her enemy's eyes were closed.
The internationally-wanted assassin smiled at her sniffling catch. "Don't be frightened, Imouto-chan. I wasn't planning to eat you. Now, why don't you start by telling me your name?"
Penny flinched and hiccupped in response.
Robin then pulled a handkerchief from her coat and extended it out several arm's-length to dab at the weeping child's cheeks. It smelled faintly of flowers, and this combined with the oddly compassionate act caused the girl to get a hold of herself sufficiently to answer the question.
"P… Penny."
Still keeping her eyes closed, the Devil Fruit user seemed to ponder this. "Well, seeing as you followed me here, you must already know my name. But what I really sought you out for was to talk about our identities. I've heard you described as the 'Shadow Hunter of Cūncan', and about five minutes ago, you heard me described as 'Miss All-Sunday'. Neither of us would care to have these identities exposed to the world, so we have that much in common, Shadow-chan."
Unfortunately Penny chose this time to look behind her to see what was keeping her dangling in the air like a worm on a hook. When she found it was yet another arm, for some reason this caused her to start crying again. Her stomach was growling, her eyes were burning, and she wished terribly she could go to sleep and wake up to find this was all over.
Nico Robin considered her for a while.
Then she said, "Would you like to get some lunch?"
"Another miso donburi bowl for my guest, please."
"Of course, madam."
The waiter bowed, and Robin went back to watching as the diminutive diner before her inhaled her third serving. Apparently the whole 'starving artist' bit wasn't just for cover. She hadn't known what to expect when Mr. 0 had assigned her to locate the mysterious bounty hunter of this island, but it certainly wasn't this odd little creature in mismatched clothes before her.
Not even her current partner's connections in the Marines seemed to know anything about the so-called 'Shadow Hunter', so eventually she had decided to simply show her face about town and see who came calling. Thanks to the Hana-Hana no Mi, she had been able to notice if someone was following her without giving anything away. At first Robin assumed that the colorfully-dressed girl trailing in her wake was one of the Hunter's informants. But when the kid entered the building herself, it finally dawned upon the crime boss that this might be the real deal. She had used her powers to watch the attack of the Billions, prepared to intervene if it became clear that her suspicions held no weight. Only after the little Bohemian proceeded to incapacitate every single one of her employees did all her doubts disappear.
It hadn't taken long to deduce that her quarry possessed some kind of chromatic-based hypnosis. Whatever the source of this power, apparently its effects did not pass through her flourishing eyes. She had tested this by punching one of the Billions in the crotch during the scuffle, and was pleased to note that her attack was not drawn to any of the red targets painted around the room. As long as she didn't use her own eyes to look, apparently the hypnotic spell had no effect. After acting to make certain that she would be well-removed from any of the more direct color attacks, Robin then went about disarming her pursuer.
So. I found her. But honestly, what do I do with her? Robin stared at the strangely solemn shrimp she was now certain was responsible for sending hundreds of pirates to prison, if not their deaths. In spite of her reputation, she doesn't strike me as the type to be interested in taking over countries.
Although truth be told, neither am I. Well, might as well make the offer.
Penny had cleaned her plate once more. Robin had been rehearsing a speech to try and tempt the Shadow Hunter when she found them, complete with arguments and alluring temptations. But a direct approach seemed more suitable for this person. Leaning forward, the vice-president of Baroques Works said, "How would you like to work for my company?"
She had been expecting a question regarding the nature of the job. Staring at her out of those great big eyes, Penny instead asked, "Can I still keep painting?"
Crocodile's going to get a real kick out of this one.
"Of course. As much as you like."
The girl's gaze drifted off to one side. She reached over and took a cracker off the stack she had been hoarding to herself since the waiter brought the first plate. Biting down on it, she scooted her knees to her chest and wrapped an arm around them.
"Will I make more money if I stay here?"
Actually, if you refuse, I've been ordered to kill you. But Nico decided against sharing that information, and instead replied, "No."
"Okay, then."
And with that, the matter seemed to be settled. Robin signaled the waiter to bring the check, and when he did she asked him to make that last order to go. As he left to get her change, she turned to find that Penny had fallen asleep with her head on her knees.
While not tenderhearted by nature, the only surviving inhabitant of Ohara Island had to admit she was charmed by the sight. It was hard to imagine what, if anything, was going on behind those placid brown pools, but the girl had spirit, and Baroques Works could certainly find a use for someone of her demonstrated talents. Perhaps it was this that caused her to pick the exhausted child up in her arms and carry her out, snagging the food and change with a few extra limbs and exiting before the waiter could realize what he saw.
Was it foolish to see something of herself in that sleeping face? All alone, with the world apparently batting away every attempt you made to find your dream? There was no guarantee what she was offering would help the little artist in that respect either. In fact, it most likely would just lead to a painful death. Nico Robin had no illusions about the enterprise they were involved in. One misstep, one seemingly inconsequential error overlooked, and they might all wind up swinging from the gallows. But Baroques Works was the most promising lead she had, and her quest could not be ignored for any misgivings, whether her own or anyone else's.
Strolling through the loud, sunny streets on the way back towards her vessel, it occurred to Miss All-Sunday that their newest member would need a codename. Garishly-garbed students raced along beside them, rattling beads and spraying each other with squirt-guns. Their carefree laughter was slightly irksome to Robin. Penny never even stirred, sleeping the sleep of the just. She certainly didn't seem to have a care in the world, like she was on vacation, waiting for her dream to start.
The answer came to her then, and the archaeologist-turned-assassin smiled.
"Sleep tight, little Miss Golden Week."
FIN.