"Yohohoho! It really is such a pleasure to have met you, Mr. Innkeeper, and I can't thank you enough for your kind indulgence in our game today!"
"Ah- no, that's fine, but shouldn't we be worried about- "
"Hm? Oh, no! He does this sort of thing all the time! Usually on the shipmast, though, or the sails and rigging."
That's not much of a comfort, somehow, as you watch him scale the tree. He's incredibly limber, already halfway up, but you catch your breath each time his hand or foot slips a little.
You root in your pocket for the remains of the crisp, hollow cookie Brook had given the boy back at the inn; broken into pieces, a small slip of paper had fallen out from the middle. You were stunned at the amount of thought that had gone into the thing, while your two guests laughed.
"He's amazing," the boy said proudly. "He can bake a cookie with a secret inside!"
You squint at the paper now, reading it again for the third time. "Why exactly is he doing this? The clue says to "find bravery," and as soon as we get here, he shoots up that tree like a squirrel."
The skeleton chuckles, and leads you forward. As you get closer, you find- rather small, somewhat crudely painted- a white skull and crossbones on the trunk of the tree. You have no idea how the boy found it as fast as he did, since you didn't see it at all until now.
"This is usually a sign of warning or death," you say dryly, and Brook laughs.
"I can see what you mean! My captain is a rather romantic man, you see, and for him, and by extension the rest of us, the Jolly Roger is a symbol of conviction." You can't judge his expression very well, since he doesn't have a face, but his voice is warm. "It's not an easy life, not all the time, but it's a very, very brave one."
A branch snaps above you and you jerk your head up; but no, the boy is still scurrying through the leaves, and you relax with a sigh.
"So you're pirates, are you?"
He nods and starts to speak, but pauses and glances up instead; you don't have time to follow suit before the boy is dropping from the tree like a stone, landing solidly on both feet, waving a leather pouch in victory.
"I found the flower!" he cheers, grinning hugely. "This is so fun, Brook!"
The skeleton nods so emphatically you start to worry about his neck. "I must agree! It's so fortunate that we happened to dock at this island in time to join in their festivities!"
"You bet! How lucky!"
They gravitate toward a park bench, and you take a seat while the boy flops into the grass, scooting up on his knees to use the seat of the bench beside you as a table. He pulls loose the drawstring of the pouch and upends it, spilling its contents out for you and his skeleton to see.
There are several paper Bellies and a piece of parchment, rolled tight and held shut with twine. He's practically vibrating with excitement as he fumbles with the parchment, and when it finally comes open, he actually sighs in pure glee.
"A treasure map." Brown eyes are as big and bright as whole stars as he beams up at you, holding it up like physical evidence, almost plaintive as he continues, "A treasure map, old man," and a smile tugs at your mouth before you can help it, and you lift it from his hands to take a closer look.
It's hand-drawn, and well. Better than some of the published maps you've seen in books. You're stunned by the handiwork, by the custom legend in the bottom right corner, the oranges drawn in the margins. It's simple, and you can guess off-hand where it's going to lead, but just like the riddle and the cookie, it took so much care.
The skeleton helps you to your feet, and the boy is leading the way down the road with the map held up to the sunlight, the smile on his face almost enough to rival the big blue sky.
"Usopp!" The boy is flying across the plaza into wide open arms. The strapping young man, with a long nose and a thick ponytail, laughs out loud and hugs him tight, grinning at you and the skeleton as you approach.
"You must be the innkeeper," he says, voice a rush of respect and warmth for a relative stranger; his blatant kindness takes you aback. "Thanks for helping us out! It's great to meet you!"
You shuffle. "You too, kid."
"Usopp, we followed the map to you," the boy exclaims, producing the Bellies. "What do we do with these? It doesn't say."
"Well, we get lunch with them, of course. You must be starving, Lu."
The kid lights up- Lu, is that his name- and you find yourself buoyed along with the group to a small corner cafe you recognize; the woman who owns it is a single mother of five, her husband having abandoned his responsibilities for a carefree life on the sea, and she somehow manages to keep her family and her business afloat all on her own.
You sit at the counter with the little band of pirates and from the way the two boys are carrying on, they must be about the same age and something like best friends. The skeleton is calmly sipping from a cup of tea with an absurdly unnecessary amount of noise, the boys are getting louder with each moment, gesturing wildly with their arms and laughing like their lives depended on it, and you catch the tired owner of the restaurant covering her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle helpless chuckles of her own.
"Do you have the next flower, Usopp?" Lu asks through a mouthful of sliced beef, and Usopp nods, rummaging through a pocket; the owner glances up, pleasantly surprised.
"You're chasing flowers?"
"I am! My friends are amazing, look at these flowers they left me!" And he scatters cookie crumbs and crumbled papers on her clean counter, unfolds the map for her to see, and beams at her with possibly two-thirds the radiance of the sun.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, and it makes her look as young as the day she opened her restaraunt, with a baby on her hip, a husband on her arm, and a dream whole worlds wide. She puts down her cleaning and leans over to admire his precious haul.
"These are lovely, sweetie."
Usopp is resting his chin in his palm, grinning fondly, and Brook is laughing into his teacup, as you watch Lu work a certain, underrated kind of magic you've only seen once or twice before in your life; right before your eyes, the tired mother leans against the counter to tell a flower story of her own, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked with laughter.