I am a terrible human being. I'm so sorry for the long delay, my meager readers!
It was partially do to vacation, partially do to a lack of internet, and partially do to a very short planning session. But no excuses.
Hang me if you must, but please carry out my final request. Please read the Author's Notes at the bottom of this page. Thank you!
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own One Piece. Eiichiro Oda is the genius behind it, and I am not gaining profit from writing this. This fanfiction is merely something to amuse myself, and hopefully, others while exploring the unseen moments in One Piece that Oda, unfortunately, never carried out. However, I do own the main character, Dave, and this particular storyline, and these are not to be used without my permission (though I doubt fanfiction will be written, as this is also a fanfiction).
That will never be stated again, as I don't see it necessary. See you at the end.
The separation isn't working (along with everything else I tried), so this will have to do.
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I'll tell you now that our protagonist didn't manage to row very far that night. In fact, not even five minutes after starting, he collapsed into a pile. His hat fell into the water, and the spray from the waves dampened his uniform and hair, causing it to be a darker brown than it usually was. Loud snores erupted from his mouth, and he was basically the picture of a pirate who had swallowed too much grog. Except for his uniform, unless you imagined the pirate had a fetish for dressing up like a marine.
But whether or not he had a fetish isn't very important. The mist, and the dark, smudged shape drifting out of it could easily surpass anything on the scale of importance.
With a snort, Dave rolled over cradling his head in his arms. He didn't even stir when larger waves battered the boat, threatening to turn it over. He didn't react when the ship nearly crushed him as it passed by.
Strangely enough, his eyes popped open when a mosquito decided to have a filling meal.
As it buzzed away, Dave shouted profanities, scratching the red spot with filed nails. Bug bites were awful, and even an admiral would run in the face of the deadly mosquito. At least, that was Dave's opinion as he stared at the spot with wide eyes. It didn't help much that he had a crippling fear of bugs.
But his attention was drawn away from the deadly wound as shouts rang through the air. Dave jumped and looked around, grabbing at the gun usually strapped to his back. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, flushing away the alcohol and bringing clarity to his mind.
When he couldn't feel it, he bit his lip and looked around for something else to use. He could have been overreacting, but he was likely far from a marine base due to the tide, and pirates had free reign.
Now, I'd like to draw your attention to the object of Dave's concerns, the giant ship moving through the fog. It dwarfed the tiny dingy, and was sided with gold and steel. The masts stood tall and proud, and a giant Jolly Roger was painted on the black sail. There was a giant skull at the bow with equally large skulls crossing over it, and it looked almost haunted. This would be intimidating, even without the fact Dave soon realized.
Dave nearly dropped the small switchblade he'd found, his fingers loosening their grip at the shock. It wasn't just because the ship belonged to a group of pirates. No, that wasn't it at all.
It was because the skull and crossbones didn't have any crossbones at all. Only a circular skull with an unnerving Glasgow Smile.
Eustass 'Captain' Kidd.
Dave gave a nervous laugh as he stared at the galleon approaching him. That was Kidd's ship. He was going to die. He was going to die, and he'd forever have a fear of sharp, pointy metal things.
Of course, he won't. He's our protagonist, after all! And a dead protagonist is no fun. Who would want a story describing a man as he rots?
However, Dave truly felt like he was going to die and go to Hell for drinking. And he would have, if not for a certain…trait of Kidd's.
"Please don't hurt me." Dave shivered and let out a breath before staring up at the ship. He couldn't even see the deck.
"It looks like a little marine came to play," a cold, snide voice drifted from above. The voice sounded quite a bit younger than Dave's, yet he found himself frozen with only his eyes able to move.
He heard a splash, and looked beside him to see a rope, taut and straight. Did they just throw an anchor at him?
His face paled when the terrifying voice reached his ears again.
"Climb up, marine. I need to show my new recruit what a human pincushion looks like."
Dave looked at the rope and, deciding he didn't have much of a choice, began climbing up it, awkwardly swinging back and forth. He looked akin to a dog climbing a tree. If you haven't seen the sight, I can assure you it looks absolutely ridiculous.
The sneering face of Kidd greeted Dave as he pulled himself over, gasping for breath. The rope wasn't easy to climb, and Dave didn't do much work on the field.
"Recruit," Kidd began, smirking at the marine, "This is a marine. I'm sure you've met some like this particular one." The giant man nodded gruffly, sending a glare in David's direction. He didn't feel very welcome.
"So, I want to give you the benefit of watching me kill him." Kidd grinned, although it wasn't a happy one. "It's also a little…reminder of what happens when people try to jump ship."
The giant of the man didn't even blink, as if he was expecting it. Dave's lip curled. Pirates. They were terrible, the lot of them.
Kidd smirked once again and raised his hand. As if pulled by strings, a large group of metal appeared, the objects ranging from guns to scrap.
Dave couldn't help but wonder why his title wasn't 'Magnet'. He supposed that the pirate had scared the marines in to giving him a good name.
He didn't have long to ponder these thoughts, however. The blades and pointy bits of the metal mass slowly turned to face him. It was then that Dave realized just how much danger he was in.
Now normally, the protagonist would counter these weapons with an amazing devil fruit of their own. Perhaps a solid wall of wood or some other material. But Dave didn't eat a devil fruit. If he did, he would have soared through the ranks, regardless of talent.
Dave wished that he did; he could almost see his life flashing before his eyes.
Blurry images flashed by, bringing an emotion before it was quickly pulled away. Anger, joy, bliss, hatred. Another flurry of images, and this time he couldn't even decipher the feelings that washed over him. But one thing stood out. It was the beating of his heart, fast and irregular. He really was going to die.
The pirate captain's smirk grew, and he slowly pushed his hand forward, making the weapons inch closer to his torso.
"Wait!"
Dave's call startled the young man. His hand stopped its crawl forward, and his lips quickly curled into a snarl.
"What."
"I-I can do something f-for your crew," Dave stuttered, staring at the ground.
"Really," Kidd drawled, taking a step forward. The weapons once again moved closer.
"Y-yes." Dave scanned the ship, looking for something, anything, to help with.
"I-I can polish your rails?"
Surprisingly, the pirate let out a bark of laughter. "You're humorous, marine. Very." Contrary to his almost friendly statement, the weapons crept forward once again. They were only a mere yard away.
"I can do anything you want! Anything!" Dave got to his knees and bowed his head. He wanted to live, damn it!
Kidd glared triumphantly down on him. "It seems that every marine cowers before the King of the Pirates."
Dave scowled. He had just gotten to the New World, the cocky-
"Maybe I should let you live," Kidd mused, turning to his crew. "I'm sure we could get some use out of you; maybe you can be bait."
Dave nodded, changing his scowl into a pleading expression. At least there was a chance whatever tried to eat him would spit him out. He was sure that alcohol wouldn't be to a fish's liking.
"Killer? Go ahead and put him in the storage room."
Killer nodded and slung Dave over his shoulder. They walked through a large doorway and went down a number of small staircases to reach a musty room full of beer, sacks of flour, and assorted non-perishable food products.
But Dave didn't really notice. His gaze lingered on the beer, and drool was practically dripping from his wide-open mouth.
Killer ignored this and tossed him into a pile of flour sacks. "Don't eat anything," he warned, before walking out of the room.
As the sound of his heavy footsteps drifted away, Dave was faced with a dilemma. He could either drink the grog and get killed, or not drink it and have a chance of living.
As he was a major alcoholic, his decision was swayed to the first option. But the thought of just whose ship he was on quickly slammed it down on the second.
However, don't get the idea that he was a sensible, reasonable man. Part of his decision to not drink the grog was that he could always drink some later, possibly on the next island.
Unbeknownst to Dave, this saved him from a rather gruesome death involving a spork and a puffer fish.
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The separation isn't working (along with everything else I tried), so that will have to do.
Alright, readers. As you may have noticed, the sarcastic narrative is rather forced in this chapter. I don't want to spoil this story, so I'd like to ask your opinions. Should I keep the sarcastic narrative and try to deliver it equally throughout the story? Should I do the narrative, but in lesser amounts? Or should I drop the sarcastic bits entirely? Please either vote on the poll or reply in a review with your answer and reasoning. Thank you!