Marco snickered as he set up the objects around Thatch's bed. Boy would the bread-head have fun with this when he woke up! The placing of the objets was meticulous and precise, designed for ultimate aggravation. The rest of the crew was upstairs, preparing further, but Marco had been assigned to this task, and he was determined to do it well. As he finally reached the doorway, he placed one last object before screaming "WAKE UP!"
Thatch bolted up straight, his eyes wide. He caught a brief glimpse of blue fire, but when he looked to the door, he couldn't see anything. He shrugged and began laying back down. Then, he saw the floor. Hundreds upon thousands of cups, filled to the brim with water surrounded his bed. They reached all the way to the door, and even extended out into the hallway.
"MARCO!" he screamed jumping out of bed, realizing too late what a stupid mistake that was. Cups flew everywhere, the water dousing Thatch in rivets. Thatch tried to control himself. His inner organizing instinct was going insane. His eyes were darting across the room, and weeping at the mess they saw. But if he freaked, he would only make it worse. So slowly but surely, he made his way to his porthole, and cranked it open. He reached for the cups, and poured them one by one out the window. It was monotonous and tiring work, but it needed to be done.
An hour later, Thatch disposed of the last cup, and boy was he glad. He strode onto the deck, hoping Whitebeard wouldn't be too angry with him for his tardiness. Thatch looked up to the great pirate, and did all he could to make him proud. Though it was only his second year on the boat, he already felt like he belonged.
Deep in his thoughts, he didn't even notice until the bright blue water balloon struck him upside the head.
"Happy second birthday on the ship, Bread-head!" chorused the crew, before pelting him with water balloons. It was like his first birthday on the ship, only worse. Pies, he could return fire with. Water balloons? No chance. All he could do was stand there, and take the hits. He felt the droplets run down his spine, sending a chill right down to his bones. But for some reason, soaking wet as he was, he couldn't get mad.
"Aww, give the brat a fighting chance will you?" said Whitebeard, emerging from his cabin. The crew laughed, and Thatch was tossed a bucket of water balloons. Chaos erupted. No longer was Thatch the target of their games; the deck turned into a full out battlefield. Rubber weaponry was being shot everywhere, slingshots were loaded and fired, and Marco was bombarding the crew from above. It was absolute mania. But Thatch loved it. 'So this is what it means to be a Whitebeard Pirate?' he thought as he flung a revenge shot at the pheonix-man. He could only wonder what his third year would be like.
A.N.: Yay! It turned out well! For those of you who aren't in on the whole 'pie' thing, read the follow-up to Ace's one-shot. I like messing with the idea of Thatch. Just by looking at him, I kinda assumed he was the organized, precise type, especially as he's a cook. Reviews, Favourites, Subscriptions, and Requests are welcomed and much appreciated! See you tomorrow for Ohm!