Warnings: All right, so there weren't any spoilers in the last chapter. There won't be many here, either. This little arc will cover our main character's escape, time adrift, meeting Luffy and Zoro, and more time adrift before they manage to land at Orange Town. There is, however, some violence and language ahead, so not for little eyes!
Also, be forewarned, the early chapters are a little shorter than what you should get used to later on. I don't aim for a particular length for a chapter - there is a certain stopping place to a chapter that is dictated by the story itself, not the word count. Some chapters may wind up being monstrously long. I will also be using the omniscient or third-person point of view quite a bit once there are more characters and situations to be dealt with despite our heroine's (whose name you will learn soon). Hopefully anyone reading this doesn't mind.
Now, onward and upward!
Three days after our landing at the pathetic, unnamed piece of rock, just as the breakfast bell clanged, a series of small explosions rocked the barracks at the main points of entrance and exit. The fire spread rapidly, as the bombs were designed. My room, of course, was empty. A few seconds later, another set of explosives detonated on the office side, either obliterating or trapping any early-morning go-getters.
So early in the morning, I met little resistance as I crossed the yard to the armaments portion of the warehouse. A single guard stood sentry at the entrance, and when the fires started, he raced to the aid of his comrades, many of whom were still in their living quarters. The sun was just rising, leaving much of the yard in shadow, and I was able to creep around the edge of the building and into the munitions locker unnoticed. I raided the lockup, taking what I could carry and what might be useful, including an experimental toy or two that I, myself, had been working on in my down time, before setting a charge near the gunpowder and cannon rounds and leaving quickly.
As I had noticed before, the perimeter fence was a mere formality, and I dashed through the open gate with none the wiser just before the last charge detonated, lighting up the munitions locker. A low rumble signified the almost simultaneous collapse of the communications tower. The accelerants contained in the first bombs had done their work, lighting up the internal structure of the buildings like so many matchsticks.
With food stolen from the kitchens, my weapons, and what little else I could call my own, I wound my way down the path to the dock. The forty-gun frigate that had transported us here was moored in the deeper water of the cove, just offshore, a fishing vessel opposite. A handful of dinghies butted up to the main dock, along with a little catboat. The latter was the one I tossed my packs into before untying its mooring rope and leaping aboard. There was a set of oars for the sole purpose of getting the diminutive vessel into open water, and it was these that I set to with vigor.
Just as I was pulling away from the dock, a gunshot rang out. I jerked at the sound, and pain lanced across my ribcage as the bullet grazed my right side. A second shot followed, this one striking me squarely in the left shoulder from behind. That simply wouldn't do.
In one motion, my right hand found the pistol at my hip and I stood in the boat, turning to face my attacker. I aimed in the same breath, taking into account the light motion of the deck beneath me as it rolled, and fired at Humber. The round struck him in the throat and he fell. I couldn't hear his garbled scream as he died, and I would never know how he escaped the compound to pursue me.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I returned to my task of rowing. If Humber had managed to come after me, there were perhaps others, and I needed to reach open water, set the sails, and get as far away from this little hell hole as possible before addressing my injuries. A few minutes later, I cleared the cove and raised the single sail, taking full advantage of the rare east wind that had risen with a red dawn. This time, the east wind had not heralded ill for me.
I thanked whatever gods may be that I had managed to steal a first aid kit from the nurse's station before leaving. With the morning sun now beating fully upon me in my little boat, a thing that was not really meant for travel on the open seas, I awkwardly cleaned and dressed the injuries inflicted upon me by my once-commander. It was by pure fortune that the shoulder wound was through-and-through. It could have just as easily wedged against my collarbone if it had been a little lower. As it was, it passed through the meat of the muscle connecting my shoulder to my neck. It would prove a nuisance to use my arm or turn my head certain ways, but I had dealt with worse before. I packed it and dressed it the best I could. The gash on my side was shallow and rapidly stopped bleeding, but I cleaned it anyway.
Putting my shirt back on, I set my gaze on the western horizon. If I was lucky, I would make it to the Organ Islands before anyone in my organization learned of the disaster at their northern outpost in the East Blue. If I was not so lucky, there had been someone in the communications tower that was able to send a message before it collapsed, and it would only be a day or two before they were on my trail.
They won't take me back, I vowed. Not this time.
I had made two previous escape attempts when I was younger and far more foolish. I had been thirteen when I tried the first time; the second came barely two years later. After each, I was punished severely, and treated to numerous methods of brainwashing. My captors - they were not my employers - could not understand why the brainwashing never quite worked on me in the same fashion that it did the others. I recalled my father's words, oft repeated in my childhood: "You are perhaps the most stubborn, willful girl anyone has ever seen! Your brother has a skull of stone, but I'm convinced yours is iron!" Whatever it was, I held on to my dream of vengeance. They were never able to take my true self, though I hid what made me different from their other pet projects following my second failed escape attempt, making them believe that they had finally been successful.
With nothing to do but think, and occasionally adjust the sail or rudder position to keep me on my westward heading, I settled back and reflected. I didn't know exactly what I would do once I reached civilization. My existence after I was taken had been a lonely one. I had not truly been exposed to society, never engaged in any real social interaction, in the last seven years. Of course I had been planted in plain sight on several missions, getting close to my target or gathering information on another, but all of those situations had been carefully scripted and planned, with contingencies for every imaginable scenario. Without someone barking orders in my ear, I couldn't remember who I was supposed to be or how to act.
I huffed. It was a good thing that a social life was nowhere near the top of my priorities list. As long as I could blend in wherever I went, I would be able to continue with my plans. There was one enormous obstacle left in front of me, however, and that was transportation. The little boat I was in would only get me so far, and I was not so arrogant as to think that I could reach the main hub of my organization in the New World alone. I had to somehow insert myself into a crew to gain passage to, and through, the Grand Line, the most dangerous sea in the world. With no knowledge of sea currents or wind patterns, or of true sailing in general, I was at a loss as to how I could accomplish my goal. Beyond escape from my captors, my plans were foggy at best.
Some hours later, after a carefully rationed lunch of salted meat, crusty bread, and a bit of water, I noticed the clouds gathering on the southern horizon. The wind had altered course slightly and it became difficult to keep the sail full and my boat pointed west. My stomach dropped. A storm could very well capsize me. It wasn't the season for numerous storms, that much I knew, but when they came up that time of year, they could be ferocious, especially the ones that spun off the continent near the Calm Belt and hooked northward. I had heard tales among the sailors I spent most of my life around of such storms, and there I was, alone in a boat little larger than a dinghy, staring into the maw of one.
The storm struck hard and fast, the wind suddenly blowing from the south-southwest, waves driving me far more northward than I cared to go. I was too busy bailing water from my boat to worry about correcting my course, however, and utterly ignored the compass I had brought with me. As long as I was being pushed north, if I made it through the storm I could strike due west again and find inhabited land within a few days. I couldn't help but pray that I did not get washed up near a Marine base.
Night fell, and the sea was plunged into blackness even as it roiled and raged. I was exhausted and soaked to the bone, but I kept bailing. The wide beam of my boat gave me more stability than I expected, and though I was in danger of capsizing several times, I managed to keep it upright. It was the lightning that truly worried me at that point. It struck often, lighting up the ocean much too close for comfort. Once, I felt the electricity as a charge along my skin, and if I hadn't been soaked through, I was certain all of the hair on my body would have stood on end.
I had turned the prow of my little boat northward to ride out the worst of the waves. Some of them rose twenty feet above my head and the spray was nearly drowning as it whipped about in the wind. Water continuously sloshed into the bottom of my craft, and I was hard pressed to keep up with bailing with the tiny bucket that had been left beneath the bench for that purpose. My shoulder was on fire, the rest of my body ached, but I wouldn't stop; my survival depended on it. I was facing the starboard side, throwing water as hard and fast as I could, so I didn't see the reef and outcroppings of rock the waves were flinging me towards until it was too late.
It was the sound that alerted me first, although in hindsight, I should have realized the waves were getting higher as they reached shallower waters. I could hear them breaking over something, though it was so lost in the wind and chaos I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. Then the rocks loomed before me, a darker black than the rest of the sea and sky, like jagged teeth in dark jaws, just before my boat was flung upon them.
The boat splintered on impact, and I was fortunate I wasn't similarly shattered. I clung to the largest piece of wreckage I could find in the dark, thankful that I had placed the pack of food and first aid supplies on my back in case this happened. Despite my immediate peril, I spared a thought for the weapons I had lost, but I at least had the ones on my person. I only hoped that I would survive this situation for one in which I needed them once again.
Again I was lucky; some angel from above must have been watching over me. I would later discover that had I been thrust into the reef and rocks mere yards to the east, I would surely have died that night. As it was, I passed mostly unharmed - though a little more battered and bruised than I had been - through a narrow series of outcroppings rather than being dashed to pieces on the crest of a low, jagged ridge.
By morning, the storm had blown itself past me, and I hauled myself out of the water. I rested on a slightly curved piece of hull, twice as long as I was tall, but only half as wide. I collapsed onto it gratefully as the sun broke through the cloud cover, and the passing of the waves - now low and gentle and rhythmic - lulled me into the first true sleep I had had in days.
Luffy yawned widely, stretching his arms rapidly out, almost smacking his new crewmate in the face. Said green-haired swordsman looked nearly murderous, growling wordlessly at the near assault.
"You idiot! There's someone else on the boat with you now!"
The captain jumped a little, as if somewhat surprised that there was, indeed, someone with him. He was still getting used to not being alone on the little ship. It had only been two days since their adventure with the Marines and they still weren't sure exactly where they were headed. It had been by sheer luck that the storm the night before had skirted by them without causing too much havoc.
"Oh, sorry Zoro. I didn't see you there," Luffy replied offhandedly. Almost immediately he added, "I'm hungry!"
Zoro huffed a sigh, wondering for the umpteenth time exactly why he had decided to follow this guy. Leaning up from where he had been resting against the mast, he looked around.
There was no land in sight, but at least the storm had fully passed. The sea was calm, the sun only a little way over the horizon. As he swept his gaze back one more time, he spotted something behind and a bit to their south. It looked like some kind of wreckage from a ship that might have been caught in the cyclone from the night before: a lumpy, dark shape against the sunrise. It appeared that someone or something was moving about, but he couldn't be sure.
"Hey, Luffy, do you see that?" he asked, pointing.
Luffy, snapped out of his hunger depression momentarily by curiosity, also caught sight of the object in question. He shaded his eyes against the morning sun, squinting at the distance.
"Maybe it's food," Luffy muttered.
Zoro rolled his eyes at his captain's single-mindedness. "It looks like someone might have been shipwrecked last night."
Luffy glanced at Zoro before turning his eyes back to the object, which was drifting roughly in their direction. After a moment of study, he nodded to himself, then stood, drawing an arm back.
The swordsman watched him in apprehension. "What are you doing now?"
"I'm going to find out what it is!" he replied with a grin. Without further warning, his arm shot out toward the object, stretching farther than Zoro thought possible toward whatever or whoever was out there. Getting purchase on something, he flung his arm back. A split second later, it was obvious he had snatched a person when a startled scream was bitten off mid-note and the figure was hurtling at their boat.
I woke not too long after I had fallen asleep - perhaps an hour or so later - to a clear sky and calm sea. Sitting up on the remains of my boat was more difficult than it sounded. Not only was I immeasurably sore, but the wreckage wasn't particularly stable and tried to capsize one way or another if I moved in the wrong fashion.
Staring around, not seeing land and having lost my compass sometime in the night, I decided first things were first. I unstrapped my pack to check my supplies. My heart fell a little when I spied the sodden food stores - they hadn't been packed for a sea voyage - but I was nonetheless happy to find that everything appeared to be intact. I ate a quick breakfast of soggy bread and cheese before I fully took stock of my situation.
The sun was rising behind and slightly to my right, meaning I was drifting slowly west-northwest. Without knowing how far the storm had pushed me off my original course, I had no idea how long it would be before I struck land. That didn't sit well with me. I had packed enough food and water that, if I carefully rationed it, would last for perhaps two or three more days. I would be hungry by the time I found land, but that could be dealt with then. Then again, land did not necessarily mean civilization or good hunting or fishing, and there was no telling exactly where I would wash up. I sighed, not looking forward to the lean days ahead.
There appeared to be a small vessel ahead and a little to my left, but I had no way of knowing just who or what was on said boat. This not-knowing thing was really starting to get under my skin. I could see no details beyond the shape of the vessel, so I decided to let it go for the time being. At the time, I was content to drift along on my wreckage.
However, drifting wasn't going to get me very far, so I set myself to paddling with my hands, trying to conserve energy and using the quiet undulation of the sea as much as possible. The monotony was already setting in when it happened.
A hand shot from the direction of the little vessel, the arm stretching impossibly. The hand gripped my wounded left shoulder before rapidly flinging me in the direction of the stranger's ship. I bit back a scream of surprise, thankful for my quick reflexes as I snagged my pack before I was out of reach. Then I was flying through the air over open water, arms and legs flailing in an extremely undignified fashion.
I crashed headfirst into the owner of that arm and we would have flown right over the bow had someone else not grabbed us and hauled us bodily down to the deck. The person who had initially stolen me from my wreckage recovered much more quickly than I and was leaning over me when I finally stopped seeing stars.
A young man, about my age, with untidy black hair, a straw hat, open red vest and no shirt, jean shorts to his knees and sandals stood looking down at me. He was bent at the waist with one hand on the back of his head, securing his hat back into place, staring at me very intently. I tensed, ready to go for a weapon, ignoring the renewed ache in my shoulder, when he opened his mouth and spoke.
"Ne - who are you?"
His open curiosity and blunt, relaxed manner, along with the abruptness with which I had been thrust into this situation, had me so disarmed that I couldn't even begin to lie. Luckily for me - though I didn't know it then - I wouldn't need to.
"Selkraig Moire. Who the hell are you?"
Author's note on our heroine's name: "Selkraig" is a derivative of a moniker belonging to Scottish privateer Alexander Selkirk. "Moire" is a traditional Scottish name meaning "star of the sea" - quite appropriate, I suppose, for our One Piece universe - and there are two possible pronunciations for it, depending on the owner's preference. We are going to go with "Mwahr" for our purposes.