When Hammie woke up, the sun hadn't even risen yet and his head was smashing itself from the inside. Last night, when Hammie was expecting at best meat stew and hardtack thrown together from what was left of the ship's stores, Takashi had instead prepared a braised pork loin atop a seasoned vegetable and fruit salad with a tart red sauce Hammie couldn't identify, but found himself scooping up everything left on the plate. Takashi declined to actually name the dish or make any comment on it, but it spoke for itself. He also served some sort of special grog that Hammie almost made the mistake of refusing. Twelve very potent drinks later, instead of staying up and repairing the ship and keeping watch for whatever else in the ocean might try to kill them, Hammie lie passed out all night on the middle of the deck.

The light of dawn was approaching, so at least the deck was visible. Hammie quietly arose and softly stepped around the snoring figures of Michael and the doctor. Takashi sat upright sword in hand, making it hard to tell whether he was asleep or faking it. Looking around, Hammie found only one other person awake. Wendy was standing at the ship's rails, gazing out at the ocean.

Hearing him approach, Wendy turned around smiling cheerfully and whispered as loudly as possible, "Good morning, Captain!"

"Just call me Hammie, please. The word captain still makes me a bit nauseous." Although there was definitely more than just the title making him nauseous at the moment.

Wendy gave a little disappointed pout in response. "Aww, why's that? I thought it'd be awesome to have your own ship and crew and everything."

"Well, I don't really feel like a captain," The crazy events of the past 24 hours came rushing back to Hammie all at once and his overwhelmed panic continued his words for him, "I mean, I've already stolen one ship, sunken it, stolen a Navy ship that's now on the verge of sinking all the while trying to herd a bunch of sociopathic, pyromaniac housecats that make up what are supposed to be a crew, and it hasn't even been a full day since I was 'made' captain."

Wendy scratched her head for a bit, trying to think of a response, before clapping her hands together, smiling cheerfully. "Well, look on the bright side! If everyone else decided to make you captain, they must have really had a lot of faith in you."

"I think it's more that no one else wanted to be captain. And why would they? It seems like all I've been doing is trying unsuccessfully to clean up everyone's mess."

Undaunted, Wendy kept her upbeat attitude and pep talk, "Cheer up, you're just starting out. I'm sure you'll be a great captain once you've had a bit of practice."

"And what would you know of captaining unruly pirates?"

"Nothing at all!" Wendy only smiled wider and gave a thumbs up, "But I know that if you work hard enough you'll be a great captain someday. That's how it works with everything in life!"

Hammie sighed, shaking his head. "Thanks, but even a good captain has to have at least some respect of his crew. Nah, realistically speaking, I'll be lucky to survive the weekend."

"Don't say that!" Wendy faced Hammie, cheeks puffed red in a pout, "You can't give up so soon when you've just started!"

"Oh? Well, what would you do in my situation?"

"I don't know... Be more aggressive? Make sure everyone on the crew knows who's the boss?"

Hammie took a deep breath as both stopped talking for a moment, the only sound made a low, impatient growl from Wendy. "I apologize, I've been dumping all my problems on you. Let's just talk about something else, okay?"

"Hmph."

Hammie attempted to break the silent tension, "So... where's Brody?"

"Brody went for a swim so he can figure out where we are." Seemingly, any offense Hammie might have committed was dropped, but only so new questions could be raised.

"How does that work?"

"Well, I don't know the full details, just that he reads sea currents or something."

"It's a little more complicated than that." At that moment, Brody had popped out of the water and climbed back aboard the ship. "Sea currents are shaped by local underwater geography. Islands, trenches, coral reefs, etc. If you spend as much time underwater as we fishmen, you can learn to read sea currents like how some humans can predict the weather by watching the sky." Brody stated all of this as if he'd been in the whole conversation and Hammie realized he could have been down in the water listening to the entire conversation and Hammie would never have realized it. "I've got good news, Hammie. You can weigh anchor soon. We're here."

Hammie looked around, but could see nothing but water. "Where's here? I don't see an island anywhere."

"Just wait a second, the sun will rise soon." Brody folded his arms and waited. Sure enough, the sun rose up over a tiny land mass in the distance, illuminating the sky, the waters, and the deck in a dazzling display of blue, orange, and gold colors the likes of which were normally reserved for oil paintings. "There it is, Jaggerjaw Island." Despite the sight of land, both Wendy and Brody wore the same nervous frown when the light reached them.

"Home sweet home, huh?" Wendy softly, nervously spoke to Brody.

"Don't remind me," Brody grunted.

By the time the ship dropped anchor the sun had fully risen to illuminate the features of the island. The group disembarked on the western shore of the island, a vast beach that stretched as far as the eye could see over crystal blue waters. The only structure in sight was a small abandoned shack and a pile of lumber, along with some stumps lined the border of a lush forest that led further inland.

No one on board wasted any time getting off the quickly decaying navy ship to stretch their legs on dry land. Michael especially was restless and loud as usual. "Well, that's the first time in a while I haven' had to swim to dry land from a shipwreck. 'ey, fishstick, er.. fishman, who do ye have to shoot to get a drink around 'ere?"

Brody grimaced, but after a sharp glance and a forced smile from Wendy, he ignored the jibe and remained calm. "There's a town, Amity Village, on the other side of the island. It's only about a half hour's walk through the forest. There's a path not far south from here. Can't miss it."

"Walking?" Michael scoffed, "Hang that. Can't we just sail around the island an' dock there? Supposedly the dear cap'n's gotta do some fixin's on the ship anyway, or at least find a new one."

Wendy and Brody looked at each other uneasily as they seemed to struggle with the answer, "Well, there's not really a good place in town to dock your ship, plus there's plenty of wood, supplies, and space on this side."

"Not to mention that if people see a bunch of very obvious non-military personnel show up with a damaged navy ship, they are going to put two and two together."

"Yeah, that too," Wendy excitedly chimed.

"Clearly ye overestimate the mathematic capabilities of complete strangers. Well, if I must labor a leisurely stroll before I be allowed me libations, I best be off now."

The Doc started off after Michael, "Same here. If you need me, I'll be getting acquainted with the bottom of the nearest large, discolored bottle."

Wendy glanced over and gave Hammie a wink and a thumbs-up. Well, no time like the present. Hammie cleared his throat and spoke with as much authority as possible. "Okay, Michael, I'm going to need you to pick up some supplies while you're in town. Just some basic essentials so we can get the ship back in order."

Michael rolled his eyes as he walked away. "Yeah... I'll get right on that, chief." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he soon contradicted himself with Doc, not even bothering soften his voice, "When will they ever learn that I'm not the type to do things when told?"

"Eh, don't worry about it Michael," the Doc replied, "He's new at this. He'll get how things work eventually."

"They can't even wait until I'm out of earshot?" Hammie squatted down to draw circles in the sand and take pity on himself. Not even the doctor would listen to him.

"Don't worry about it, brother," Jude patted Hammie on the back, "I'll take care of the shopping and keep an eye on those two as well." With that, Jude was off in the same direction.

"Well, guess I better get started on repairs," Hammie sulked back off to the boat, head bent over and arms dragging at his sides.

Wendy's eyes started welling up with tears at the pitiful sight. "Poor Captain Hammie..."

"Here, I'll help," Brody followed Hammie, and rather than using the only rowboat they had, possibly stranding others, the two swam the short distance back to the ship and climbed up the many gaping holes in the ship, though Hammie somehow managed to mope while swimming and climbing as well.

Brody's legs braced and his arms relaxed as he stared down the large stack of wood. He slowly raised one arm high into the air as he drew in a large breath. "HYAAH!" Focusing his weight, his hand chopped straight down, splitting the planks dead-center. "Yo, Hammie, how's that?"

Hammie finished nailing in the board to the side of the mast before turning to gaze at the once neatly arranged lumber, now a scattered pile of debris. "Um, that's impressive and all, but could you just use the saw please?"

"Sorry, just trying to make things a little more efficient, you know?"

"Not that I don't appreciate it, but when you chop the wood like that, I don't get the exact dimensions I need and the edge is all splintered. It doesn't exactly make for a sturdy repair."

"Fair enough," Brody picked up the saw and went to work salvaging the crushed pile, "So first time with your own ship, eh?"

"Yup. Hand me a two by four please."

Brody tossed the small wooden plank over to Hammie, "It's nice isn't it?"

"What?"

"Getting to sail where you want to," Brody started working the saw on various planks of wood, his inhuman strength letting him plow through board after board, "Getting to chart your own course instead of just following a map. Nothing like personal freedom to go where you want."

Hammie wiped the sweat off his brow, but otherwise didn't pause in his work, "I don't know about the course-charting thing. I've fixed up boats before but I don't know the first thing about reading maps or anything like that."

"You're going to need to fix that in the near future unless you want to sail straight into a sea king's mouth."

"I don't suppose you could show me a thing or two."

"Me? Truth be told I don't really look at most maps the way air-breathers do."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm more accustomed to reading maps about what lies below the sea, not what's dry. Still, I guess I could give you a crash-course. Let's make sure the ship won't sink overnight first." Both set back to work for a few minutes in silence until Brody once again broke it

"Hey, Hammie, can I ask you a personal question?"

Hammie paused, unsure of what to think, "Uh... sure?"

Brody stopped sawing the wood and went over to Hammie, pulling a small box out of one of his jacket pockets and opened it. Inside, the sun reflected a glint of light off a perfectly round, smooth pearl embedded in a ring of gold and coral red. "Well, whaddya think?"

Once again, Hammie was unsure of what to think, "Ah... well, Brody, I'm flattered but I don't think we've known each other long enough for that kind of a relationship."

Brody looked down at Hammie with wide eyes reminiscent of a puppy, "You think Wendy'll like it all right?"

"Oh, it's for Wendy," Hammie breathed a sigh of relief, but once again for him only more questions were raised. "Wait, it's for Wendy? So then you and her...?"

"I was gonna wait till we got to the next island to give this to her. Try to keep her mind off things, ya know?"

There were too many questions Hammie had about such an idea, most of them about how such a relationship between a fishman and human could even physically happen. The biology behind it just wasn't sound as far as he knew. "But how does that even work...?"

"But things got a little hectic and... well... I guess this thing's kind of burning a hole in my pocket. Human girls like this sort of thing, right?"

Hammie stared deadpan, "I am completely the wrong person to be asking this."

"Oh..." Brody looked to the ground, dejected.

Feeling guilty, Hammie tried to be supportive, "I mean... I'm sure she'll love it! With a rock like that, what girl, human or otherwise, could say no?"

"Thanks, man. That means more to me than you could imagine." Brody, cheered up now, smiled at Hammie, revealing a large mouth as large as the rest of his head combined with a row of teeth seemingly unnaturally white and just enough out of alignment to be unnerving. Each tooth was about twice the size of anything in a human mouth. Though there wasn't anything directly threatening about it, Hammie couldn't help but flinch at a mouth that could probably take his head in one bite.

"GAAAH!" Hammie recoiled back to the mast, "You're welcome. Just... do me a favor and smile with your mouth closed, will you? No offense or anything." Brody quickly closed his mouth, embarrassed, and the two continued with the ship's repair.

Deep in the forests of Jaggerjaw Island, Takashi had left the rabble and noise that came with the ship or anywhere with a Michael in it. As soon as he had seen the village in the distance he immediately turned left and walked further into the wilderness until no sign of civilization was left, only the sounds of nature to disturb him. After spending a few hours picking out the perfect spot, he unsheathed two swords caked in dry blood from the collection on his back and took his stance.

"This place will be adequate for meditation."

Amity was a small, quiet village with no building larger than two stories. The sun rose in the sky as the residents were just exiting their homes to begin the day's routine. The village had seen better days though. Over half the buildings were abandoned and boarded up, and at first Michael hoped for some other pirates "livening" the village up. His hopes were dashed when it became apparent that the houses were boarded up for several years and that there was no damage otherwise on the sleepy town. Not only were there no ships docked at the port, there was no dock to make port at.

Turning a corner, Michael stopped at in his tracks, something catching his eye and a sly grin forming on his face and an idea forming in his head.

"You coming, Michael?"

"Be there in a jiff, Doc. I need to check on somethin'." And with that, Michael went off on his own towards some goal that neither Jude nor Doc could see at the moment.

Doc knew the look all too well and knew better than to get involved at this point. "Whatever. I'm not saving you any grog," Turning to Jude, "What about you, lightweight?"

"Well, first thing's first. I haven't bathed for a full two days now. Perhaps later," Doc shrugged and went off to look for a bar elsewhere. Jude, meanwhile, had his own agenda to look to and casually strode through town scouting the area. "There has to be an inn somewhere. Ah, here we are." Finally, Jude came across a small two-story building with an old, faded sign reading 'Marigold's Inn'. Jude took a good view of the place as well as the surrounding area, and then stepped inside with as regal an entrance as he could muster. Inside, a young, skinny blond woman sat at the front desk, heads buried in her arms quietly asleep. Slightly annoyed at his proud entrance being wasted, Jude nevertheless attempted politeness. "Young miss Marigold is it? Excuse me, Marigold?" It took several dings of the small desk bell and an 'accidental' slamming on the table before the young woman was roused.

"... Who are you?" The woman was still so groggy, Jude wondered if she remembered that she was supposedly on duty.

"A paying customer." As far as Jude knew, this was still a foreign concept to the young woman. Still, hopefully this would rouse some professionalism out of this supposed innkeeper.

"... Do I know you?" Apparently not.

"You haven't been playing the part of an innkeeper for very long, have you?"

"... Where'd you come from?" This had crossed the line from poor customer service to just plain rudeness. Jude could forgive that the young lady may have simply been living under a rock all her life and didn't recognize her, all the better for him actually. He could have even forgiven the lack of service and courtesy if there were a finer establishment in town to choose from. But to him, being the only inn in town meant that it had to be the best inn in town and certain standards of service had to be met. Rudeness to potential customers was not one of them.

"Now look here, Miss Marigold."

"... Daisy."

"Excuse me?"

"... My name's Daisy, not Marigold."

"I assume Marigold is the proprietor of this establishment then?"

"... More or less."

"Then please let me speak to Miss Marigold whom I assume will actually provide something resembling customer service."

"... She's not available."

Despite the growing headache this was becoming, Jude was very good at not letting his anger and frustration show, at least not more than he wanted to. "What sort of inn is this anyway?"

"..." Daisy started to nod off back to sleep causing Jude to slam his fist down on the table.

"Now see here! I am a paying customer and if you want anything resembling business from me than you will prepare a private bath for one with heated water and an ample supply of soap. And not the common soap either, I expect you must have something resembling refinement somewhere around here. I also need my clothes washed by hand, and delicately for these are sensitive fabrics. Is that clear?"

"... Sure." Lazily getting up from her stool and dusting herself off, Daisy slowly went to meet the demands, though Jude was "supervising" her and making sure she didn't fall asleep every step of the way. It took longer than Jude thought it should of course, but eventually a room was cleaned and emptied, a bath was drawn, and Jude settled into the warm water. It could have used a few more scented oils sure, but this was a start.

"... Is there anything else?"

"Is there anything else what?"

"... Is there anything else, sir?"

Jude smiled as he reclined in the bathtub, now only wearing his half-mask as his clothes were carefully laid out to be washed, a task of which Jude would insist on supervising later. "I require conversation. Don't stare. It isn't professional. Just sit in that chair there and face the wall. And do not fall asleep. It isn't professional. Now," as he began to cleanse himself, "Tell me about Amity."

Meanwhile, Doc stumbled into a nearby saloon through a set of classic swinging doors, clutching his head in tired pain. Crawling on top of one of the bar stools, Doc managed to balance himself enough to slump onto the bar counter. "Barkeep, give me one of the house specials. And by house special, I mean anything you got in the house." The bartender turned around, and Doc had to check his eyes. The kid couldn't have been older than 16. "Aren't you a little young to be tending bar?"

"I'm the only one there is here," the teenage bartender sheepishly replied.

Doc shrugged his shoulders. As long as the kid could mix drinks, who was he to judge? "Fine. Just give me the strongest drink you have, and the whole bottle of it." The bartender hesitantly pulled out a large, dark bottle from behind the counter, but it was grabbed from his hands before he could open it, and Doc was already chugging stuff that normally had to be diluted several times over before it could even be served in shot glasses.

"Are you sure you should be drinking that much so quickly? That's some powerful stuff."

Doc stopped chugging to breathe and already half the bottle was gone. "Hey, if I don't drink every last drop it'll be too much of a temptation for you minors. I'm just doing my civic duty as a doctor."

The bartender's eyes widened, "You're a doctor?"

Doc smiled as he slowed down from chugging the bottle to just nursing it, "Don't let the stethoscope fool you." He patted his chest confusingly. "Oh wait, that's right I'm not wearing one." Doc laughed at loud at his own inside joke. This stuff worked fast.

"Please, just take anything you want! Leave me alone!" Suddenly, the bartender backed away hysterically before bolting out the back door. Doc raised an eyebrow and almost wondered enough to ask what the hell was the matter before he realized the more important matter.

"Huh... Wow, free booze!" Doc let his body slide lazily but quickly over the bar to its many stores to help himself.

Michael found himself standing in front of a large pile of debris near the center of town, the remains of what was probably some church or important government building. Now it seemed to be just an empty, plantless lot with lumber, stone, and brick strewn about haphazardly. Most of said materials were charred to a crisp and useless. Obviously fire had been the building's downfall, but Michael was sure he could find a few good bits and pieces among the debris. I wasn't gonna bother, but if I'm the one to get Hammie that stuff, he might just make ME first mate instead of that pansy. Laughing mischievously, he stepped over the small stone barrier separating the bleak, grassless lot from the rest of the town.

One step in, and Michael stopped. Something felt different. Michael swore he could hear breathing behind him, and not just from one source. Michael slowly turned around. Where the bloody hell did they all come from? Where once was an empty street there was now a rather large crowd, all scared and looking straight at him. Most of the villagers were cowering behind one another, leaving one young man, the only one with facial hair, to lead the pack.

Michael could practically feel the combined fear from the crowd, and it was like a natural high. He had to stifle a large grin into a slight smirk as he leaned in to turn an ear to the slowly shrinking man. "What the bloody hell you lot lookin' at?"

The crowd immediately flinched back, except for their leader, who definitely wanted to be anywhere else at the moment, "I am the elder of Amity Village, Quint. I don't know who you are, out-of-towner, or how you arrived on Jaggerjaw Island, but you're not allowed there."

Michael glanced over the crowd, still huddling behind one another, actually slinking back even more when his gaze passed over them. "You an' what army, pintsize?"

"You don't understand-"

"Oh, I don't understand, now do I? What, because Mikey's from out-of-town he doesn't understand how things work around yer quant lil' town here?"

"No, I-"

"Ye think jus' because yer the boss of all the lil' sheep hidin' behind ye, ye can tell me what I can and can't do? Ye have any idea who ye're talkin' to?" Michael unhooked the clasp to his two giant pistols, and any attempts the crowd or its leader had of a response vanished. "Well? I'm waiting. Not so chatty now, are ye?" Michael edged closer to the crowd until his face was mere inches from the Quint's sweating, cowering face. "Say somethin' ye pansy!"

"Hey, Mike, guess what?" Across the street, Doc exited the bar carrying several armfuls of grog, "Free boo-Oh shit, not again." He made his way over to Michael and the crowd, making sure not to spill a drop of booze on the way, and stepped in between Michael and the 'elder,' "All right, who did you piss off this time, Michael?"

"What? Me and Quin here?" Michael smiled and wrapped an arm around his new 'buddy.' "We were jus' havin' a good ol' chat, and he was jus' about to leave, weren't ye, Quin?" The poor man couldn't respond, whether it was out of fear or Michael's body odor had killed him Doc couldn't decide, but Doc had other things on his mind.

"Michael, what are you doing here?"

"Jus' thought I'd grab a few supplies so we can get off this rock faster is all. They certainly aren't usin' it."

"Michael, do you have any idea what you're standing in?"

"Eh?" Michael took a more careful look at his surroundings, but saw nothing.

"More importantly, who you're standing in?" Doc, had to do some pointing, but eventually, out of the otherwise vague shapes in the ashes, Michael could make out the human-shaped outlines in the rubble, the ashes of whomever died here. As soon as Michael realized exactly what he was wading through, he leapt out as if the rubble was still on fire, cursing unintelligibly but loudly. This was more than enough to send Quint and the rest of the crowd scurrying like cockroaches back to the safety of their buildings or the shadows of the alleys around them. Doc forced some of grog into Michael's hand and helped him up. "Come on, Mike. There's more where that came from."

The bartender still hadn't returned yet, much to Doc's delight. He hopped over the bar and took the responsibility of tending drinks to himself and to Michael, still shaken and examining his boots for human remains. Doc had always known Michael to be a superstitious man, and this kind of experience would leave Michael thinking he was haunted for weeks. The best treatment for this kind of behavior in Doc's experience was a good stiff drink, and who better to administer the medication than Michael's physician. "Here, drink this. See? The town's not all bad. Free booze."

Michael chugged the pint down and slammed the empty mug on the bar, where Doc took to pouring another drink right away, "Right, not all bad. Creepy townies, creepy buildings, creepy silence, bloody cemetery in a burned down building. Cremation's not a bad way to be disposed of all, in fact I'd prefer it meself once I shuffle off me mortal coil, but yer s'posed to dispose of the ashes not leaving them out for the wind to carry them wherever," Michael slammed down another drink that Doc had just finished pouring him, "Betcha that's why half the buildins here are boarded up. Angry spirits 'cause the people here didn't do a good job buryin' the first lot."

"Save the ghost stories, Mike, it's ruining the booze," Doc downed a drink himself. Michael wasn't sure what was in this, but noted a small plume of smoke escaping Doc's drink afterwards, "Besides, it's a nice change of pace from the usual angry mob chasing us out of town."

"Bah! A few torches and pitchforks might liven up the place," Michael chugged his third drink, "Hoo boy, Doc. The drink's a lil' too strong fer this early in the morning. One sip an' I can already hear singin'."

"That's not the drink. My alcohol-induced hallucinations are ALWAYS in tune." The music grew louder until it was apparent that someone was singing, loudly and off-key, and the noise was growing closer, until finally the bar doors burst open, three individuals bursting in, the front one screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Well, I can't tune a piano,

but I can tuna fish!"

Author's Notes:

Been a while, hasn't it?

There's something I need to decide with regard to future chapters, so I thought I should ask the readers.

When it comes to battles, I have two options. In One Piece, as in a lot of shounen work, the characters have to call out their attacks, "Gomu Gomu no Pistol" and the like, which makes sense since otherwise, how could we know which attacks the characters are using. But it is really cheesy and campy. So what's your opinion, attack names or no attack names?

Rexan: Unfortunately, Rosalina's crew was only for that one chapter, though arcs in the future may feature them if I find a good enough excuse.