Yo! Qwaszxedc9 here! I took a while! And here's the next chapter! XD
Thanks for reading!
Edited as of 06/12/2013 with thanks to awesome beta-reader Brunetta6! (She's so awesome. XD)
Reconstructed as of 05/01/2013 with thanks to Creative Advisor and Beta-Reader Brunetta6.
His Days of Insomnia
Day 2
Day 2 – 7:15am
The sky glowed orange, tinted with hints of red within dark blue.
Leaning against a window, he watches.
The sun is rising. The crew has already began trailing out of the cabins one by one; the cook being the earliest to rise, followed by the navigator and the archaeologist, the former immediately checking their course.
He stares… and yawns.
How realistic. The sunrise. It's bright.
The rest of the crew trickles out through the door, the shipwright yelling about a SUPER night's rest, the doctor sleepily trotting over to the infirmary, the sniper and the captain bursting out of the door, the latter yelling about breakfast.
How very detailed.
"Nami-swan~! Robin-chwan~! Breakfast is ready~!" the cook swoons and noodles around, bubbling with visible hearts.
"You shitheads can come eat too," the chef casually adds, lighting up a cigarette, seeming unwilling and forced, though the musician knew otherwise.
He vaguely notices shuffling behind him. The swordsman is already up.
"Let's go. The prissy cook is gonna start bitching if we're late…" the green-haired illusion yawns, hands already opening the trapdoor.
He stares… and smiles.
"Of course, Zoro-san." he replies.
Day 2 – 9.15am
It seemed even in nightmares there are silver linings.
Now, the particular silver lining would be breakfast. Breakfast with the Strawhats was always incredibly entertaining. It was always a battle of offence and defense that determined whether or not you could eat to your fill. Should concentration be lost for but a moment, you would find your plate cleared.
Unless, of course, you were a lady.
Rubber hands seemed to crawl to every corner of the table, snatching up any unguarded bits of food. Many a times those hands breached the not-so-solid defenses of the crew. The male portion of the crew, he noticed, unintentionally piled more than enough food for themselves onto their plate.
Far more than enough.
They didn't seem to notice.
He turned to glance at the plate next to him, which belonged to the archaeologist, and was wonderfully decorated to finest detail, complete with thin, juicy slices of sweet oranges. "Excuse me, Robin-san. Your plate seems much more bountiful. Would you mind exchang–?"
He didn't managed to finish his sentence before an iron-forced kick slammed directly onto his skull. "Eat your own portion! There are seconds!"
The furious yell from the cook seemed slightly muffled from the kick, and the fact that he's lying on the ground. "How harsh~!" Brook screeched, watching as the rest of the crew broke out in laughter. The captain especially loudly, with a mouthful of food, or two mouthfuls.
He sat back up, and paused. His plate was now empty. Even his half-empty tea cup.
"Ehh…! The food disappeared!" he screeched in bewilderment, though he had a very good idea where the food went.
"Shishishi...! That was good!" the captain smiled through several mouthfuls of food.
A black shoe dug into the rubber captain's face. "You eat your own portion too! Stop stealing!" the cook shouted, placing that heavy foot down.
"No way! I want more food!" the captain whines.
Through the bickering between the cook and the captain, Brook yawns, only barely.
"Musician-san, are you tired?" the archaeologist beside him asks, sharp eyes curious and perhaps with a hint of worry. He smiles brightly.
"Yohohoho~! No worries! I'm perfectly fine!" he laughs, waving his arms cheerfully.
None of this is real, none of it will ever be, his mind reminds him.
But he ignores it. Instead, he picks up his guitar. It would be nice if it lasted longer. "Yohohoho~! How about a tune to go along with this lovely meal?" he suggests, holding up his guitar.
The captain beams. "Play Bink's Sake! I like that one!" he shouts enthusiastically.
"Yohohoho. Certainly." Brook beams, and begins playing. So much warmth, so much joy, so much care.
This dream is a little saddening, to be honest.
Day 2 – 6.30pm
The evening sky is, to say the least, breathtaking.
The orange, glowing streaks painted across the sky along with light shades of purple and dabs of red and yellow in the dark blue background of the sky. Fluffy, darkening yet glowing clouds swirled around, surrounding the soft, round orange glow of the setting sun. Long wiggling lengths of lights danced over the surface of the sea, glittering the water surface. A long, swift breeze tugged at his afro, caressing invisible, cool fingers against his bones.
How surprising. He never thought himself that imaginative, to be able to paint such a beautiful scenery within his mind.
He stared.
Lifting his arms, he snatched his top hat out of the air, where the wind had playfully carried it off for its amusement.
The captain was not so lucky. "Boshi!" ...Splash!
"Ah, Luffy! You'll drown!" SPLASH! ...Isn't the little doctor a hammer?
"Oi, you idiots!" Clanging of swords thrown against wood, and yet another splash.
"Shitty bastards!" Rustle of a jacket, thumping of shoes against grass and yet one more splash.
In less than three seconds, four men had gone overboard. What a surprise. The archaeologist was right; things like this did happen all the time! Yohoho~!
He strolls over to the railing and peers over. There was no one in sight. Somehow the waters didn't seem as dazzling as before.
No worries, he tells himself.
They can't die if they're not alive.
"Oi, Brook... You okay?" the sniper asks. He was sitting beside the railing, relaxed, as if there weren't any worries that those overboard might die.
Well, he supposed, that might be true. Fragments of one's imagination aren't real enough to die. Fade maybe, but not die.
He smiles.
This incident reminds him so clearly of that fond, and slightly... irritating, memory of his wondrous experience in the sea after eating that, at that point of time, utterly useless devil fruit. Him spinning around and tripping, Yorki yelling at him about idiotic hammers and useless devil fruits. He remembers it clearly, like it was yesterday.
When did that happen? Was it yesterday?
But many years have since passed, he thought. Years since they had to abandon their captain and those others to sail the calm-
It doesn't matter. It is but a memory.
Or maybe it wasn't? It was growing difficult to separate reality, imagination, fiction and dreams. Or were they all the same thing?
The skeleton stares at the two crew members swimming back towards the ship with the captain and the doctor in tow, yelling at the others for rope – or in the cook's case, swooning at the ladies to fall in love with his bravery and asking if they loved him, even in the water.
He stares down, watching the waves frolic around in their clear blue paradise. That time when he had fallen in, Yorki had jumped in immediately after, scooping him up from deep underwater and yelling at him for turning into such a dumbass hammer.
Maybe he should just fall in again, on the off chance Yorki might just come after him.
Mmmmm… no, that wouldn't do.
That might just banish him from this wonderful dream his mind had so thoughtfully conjured. And abandon him in that dark, dark mist.
He watches as the crew members climb up the rope. He knows he would wake up soon. Dreams are but dreams. They never last.
The cook kicks the captain into the wall, the navigator yelling at the top of her voice about idiotic hammers and dumbass captains, the doctor immobile on the grass.
How familiar.
How painful.
How nostalgic.
He awaits yet another sleepless night.
Day 2 – 8.30pm
The marines must have a lot of free time on their hands. So much so that they can send less than skilled soldiers to chase after more than skilled pirates, all of whom couldn't even be bothered to adhere to the basic courtesy of attacking when there's light.
His thoughts were interrupted by a random marine trying to launch himself on him. He swings his sword swiftly upwards to slice him across his chest, and topples him, whilst humming softly. Glancing up, he is aware that most of the marines have fallen, their commanding officer shot far from the ship in a Gomu-Gomu no Rocket.
He felt, maybe, slightly lethargic, fatigued.
Crack!
The sudden, sharp pain stabs through his leg. It tears like heavy friction, as if a sword was buried through the bone of his foot.
A sword is buried into his left foot.
Straight through his bones. Whilst he was standing still.
The pain registers like a slap. He is not so much surprised by the pain, but only that he does feel it.
It hurts.
He is aware that the fallen marine guilty of stabbing his foot was kicked off the ship by the cook, and that there is an extremely panicky furry doctor jumping around below him. "Ah! Brook! Your foot! Call a doctor!"
The tiny Zoan flails his hoofs around, the fact that he was the doctor seemed to slip his mind. "Erm... Chopper... You're the doctor..." the sniper was inclined to comment, from his hiding spot in the corner of course.
"Oh. Brook! Stay still! I'll have to pull out the sword!" the tiny doctor squeaks as he bends down, and turned into his larger form. He reached for the sword, smoothly pulling it out, rattling it slightly and causing painful friction to his bones.
But he feels it. That sharp, flaring pain.
The pain of living!
Is this not a dream? A vivid, realistic, beautiful, surreal dream? Will it not be gone the moment his eyes dare to shut?
"Brook! Are you alright? You need to come to the infirmary!"
The little doctor turns around. "Sanji! He needs milk! Bring two bottles to the infirmary!"
The skeleton is suddenly aware that he was being flung over the big doctor's shoulders. He still feels the pain.
It is nearly intoxicating.
"Yohohoho~! Don't worry, Chopper-san! The sword didn't even pierce the skin. Though I have none. Yohohoho~! Skull joke~!" he laughs over the big doctor's shoulders, watching as all the other crewmates visibly relaxed slightly.
The big doctor was, however, very insistent on bringing him to the infirmary. He complies.
He watches as the little doctor soaked his foot in milk, making it as good as new, even shinier maybe. He stares. The pain had left. All that remained was a numb feeling in his bones, and a slightly chilled feeling from the milk itself.
The pain was gone.
Was it also his vicious imagination that concocted such a hopeful feeling, only to snatch it away right after?
He smiles. "Yohohoho... Thank you, Chopper-san. You're a great doctor," he praises, reaching towards the side.
The doctor started blushing and dancing. "Bastard~! I'm not happy at all that you said I'm a great doctor~! You jerk~" The tiny doctor wiggles around, trying and failing to not be embarrassed at his praise.
The musician pulls out a guitar. "Allow me to show my gratitude though a beautiful song! Yohohoho~!" He drums his fingers down, producing a catchy tune that sounded through the infirmary doors.
He starts singing.
The pain. He had felt it.
Was this not a dream?
Day 2 – 10.00pm
The little doctor had insisted that he not place any weight on his previously injured foot, and even insisted on wrapping it. That seemed like such a waste of clean, sterilized bandages, but he wasn't inclined to comment.
There is no flesh to heal, no blood to clot, no wound to close.
Any evidence of a wound disappeared. As if that stabbing incident never happened.
As if it never existed.
Honestly, it was quite a waste.
"Brook! I said not to play with Luffy!" The tiny doctor dashes over, waving his hoofs around in what was supposed to be an angry manner.
He smiles. "Yohohoho. Don't worry, Chopper-san. It was merely a game of hide and seek. And my foot doesn't feel any pain!" he reasons. There is no pain. None at all.
"No! Stop playing and go sleep! Usopp and Luffy have first and second watch together so they are staying up! You just recovered from your injury so sleep!" the little deer insisted in that 'doctor' voice, one that no patient disobeyed apart from the swordsman.
He bends down slightly to pat the doctor on the head. "Yohohoho~! No worries! I'll go lie in bed now," he says, smiling as the little doctor beams.
He turns, heading toward the cabin door as he hears squeaks of "Rest your foot!" from behind.
He yawns. The moon is bright overhead, gleaming down as if to burn into his mind that this is surreal. He glances up.
The piercing shine from that full, whole moon is terribly, terribly bright.
He opens the door slowly, as if it might trouble the shadows and empty space within. No one has gone to bed yet. It's awfully empty. Still, he climbs up to his hammock, pulls the covers slightly over his legs. Laying down, he watches as the shadows above wave and dance randomly. The skeleton shifts his legs slightly, as if trying to pull forth some relieving measure of pain from his previously wounded foot.
There is none.
Could he have imagined it? The pain?
The door is lightly pushed open. There is that gentle tapping footsteps that originate from none other than the little doctor, first to arrive most probably to check if he was resting. The hammock sways, leaning slightly toward the right as the little doctor peeked in.
He stays still. The hammock is released, bouncing up lightly.
He supposes that being asleep would most likely put the little doctor's mind at ease, believing him to be sleeping off his non-existent injuries.
He hears the tapping footstep rhythm again, then the sound of much heavier boots scraping against the ground slowly dragged in, along with an undeniable clank of metal against metal, before a light thunk on the ground and the unmistakable and immediate snores of the swordsman leaning against the wall.
The tapping rhythm stopped short of the edge of the hammock, then a slightly heavier push and the hammock shakes, with the little doctor tugged in, gradually slowing to simple, gentle, inevitable swaying.
Almost immediately an unintentional stomping of bare, heavy feet echoes across the cabin. The hammock dips and bounces heavily as the shipwright climbs on.
The door is suddenly but lightly pulled shut, and the scraping of leather and metal against wood is prominent. The light but firm footsteps suddenly pause directly beside him, and traces of cigarettes smoke float directly over him, the cook bending over to observe him.
He stays still.
How strange.
He wonders what the cook is doing. Checking if he was asleep? The cook wouldn't be able to tell if he was awake. These empty eye sockets snatched that privilege away.
The cigarette scent is gone. He guesses that the cigarette had been tossed.
The cook tenses for a moment, cursing under his breath as he straightened. And maybe put out the cigarette. That moment passes and the footsteps resume, slowing down suddenly before reaching the hammocks. The planks creak a little. There is a pause.
He is curious. What is the cook doing-?
Shink. Clank!
"What the hell, aho-cook?!" a shout echoes through the cabin.
"Don't block the way by sleeping in front of my hammock, shitty-marimo!" The cook shouted back.
Clink! Shink! Clank! Thunk!
"Curlicue! Don't disturb people's sleep!" Chink!
"Then don't block the way with your marimo-head! Crap-swordsman!" Thunk!
"I wasn't blocking the way! Are you blind?! Dart-brow!" Clang!
Clink! Crash!
"Moss-brain!" Clank!
"Love-cook!" Shing!
"National treasure!" Creak! Crash!
"Magic-eyebrow!" Clank! Clink!
"Oi! There are people trying to sleep here! You guys are SUPER noisy!"
He blinks. The daily routines of the Strawhat crew. It's somewhat nostalgic. Like when he and his crewmates used to fight over nothing.
Those skeletons in that lovely grave.
Or are they in those dusty coffins?
His chest feels slightly empty. Though that might be because he has no chest! Skull joke~!
How nostalgic. His mind is cruel.
Soon the fight between the swordsman and the cook stops, due to the fact that the shipwright has threatened to call the navigator in. The whole crew, even the captain, knows how frightening a sleep-deprived and cranky navigator can get. Well, the swordsman isn't really frightened of her, but maybe of her fickle habit to suddenly add unreasonably reasonable interest to his already exceeding payable boundaries debt. Only maybe. And the cook isn't really frightened either, but prefers not to disturb his precious and gracious navigator with the annoyance of an uncultured moss-headed neanderthal. Soon the crew calms down, and they all turn in. Snores echo through the cabin.
He shuts his non-existent eyelids.
Sleep still doesn't come. He opens them again, and watches the shadows dance.
Maybe he can't sleep because he already is.
He stares.
He imagines Laboon. The little whale was around the size of a tiny boat when they left him. He wonders how large he has grown. Maybe as huge as a mountain? How large a mountain then?
He stares.
And stares.
The door slams open. Light shuffling of quick feet across the ground before the feet seemed to take a huge leap. "Zoro! It's your turn! Wake up!" the captain yells.
There is a slightly annoyed huff. "Oi, Luffy! I told you not to jump onto me!" the swordsman shouts, sounding a little annoyed.
"Alright Zoro-kun! The great captain Usopp now requires you to take over our gallant services!" the sniper says, trying to sound smug.
"Whatever, go sleep," the swordsman says, waving them off as he stood up, swords clanking slightly against each other.
The door is pushed open, then shut again. The captain and the sniper both hop into their beds simultaneously, as if not really caring about waking anyone up. Usually the sniper would be more careful, he muses. Must be because of the captain.
The hammocks rock from side to side as the two hop on. It's a wonder how no one seemed to be disturbed by the noise and movements.
He stares.
Today has been more eventful, he supposes. It almost seemed like three days already. How long has he been asleep on his broken ship?
He stares.
Sleep is cruel.
He yawns.
The sun should rise soon.
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