Pappug hopped off his stool and padded towards the bulletin board. The canvas stretched from wall to wall, ceiling to floor. It was covered with numerous cut-outs and pictures from magazines. You see, Pappug had hit a block. A very hard block indeed. He ran his hands over the many designs and colours, extending out his metal rod, that he might be hit with a bolt of inspiration. But nothing. His mind was completely blank.
"Damn it," he muttered, stepping away from the board.
Designer's Block. Of course, the original phrase was 'writer's block', but any creator, any artist, could be hit with the same dillema. A period of time, maybe a day, maybe a week, maybe a month, wherein the gears in their minds just stopped turning. The pieces just stopped clicking. Nothing the artist does can ram through this block, and they're left to suffer.
Usually, when Pappug hit these blocks, they would last about a day or two. Nothing major, just a bit frustrating is all. But this time, it had been a month since he'd last managed to scratch something worthwhile in his sketchbook. His clothing designs had become dull and repetitive. He had sunk to the levels of, dare he say it, a… common retail designer. Pappug shuddered at the thought. Criminal, his beautiful, prospering, thriving, brand name Criminal, would be torn down to nothing but sales racks and bargain buys. It was a nightmare he couldn't allow to come true.
"A muse," Pappug crossed his arms, "I need a muse."
Of course, every designer had someone who inspired him or her. Specifically, someone who could help them to create and inspire original designs.
"Yes," Pappug said, getting excited as the thought ran back and forth in his head, "I need a muse!"
The starfish threw on his coat and stepped outside. His swanky apartment leered over one of the busiest streets in Fishman Island. It was a real treat to peek outside and people watch. Pappug headed over to his favourite café. The bell jingled jauntily as he strolled through the door, and took his seat at a booth near the window.
"Hello sir, what can I get-Ooh!" the mermaid waitress squealed, and clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Aren't you just the sweetest little starfish!" she cooed, pinching Pappug's cheek.
"Hey now!" Pappug squawked indignantly, "Enough of that!"
"Marika," the waitress's co-worker called, "don't harass the guests!"
Pappug glanced over at his saviour, and his eyes widened. There, in a pink-tailed, green-haired glory, was his muse.
"Madame!" he cried, hopping over towards her, and taking her by the hand. "What is your name?"
"It's Keimi sir," she replied, smiling at him. "But sir," she broke off, tilting her head and gasping. "Could you.. Could you possibly be Monsieur Pappug of the Criminal Brand!?"
"Yes, that would be me," Pappug replied smugly, kissing her hand. "Enchanté, Mademoiselle. Would you care to join me for a quick snack?"
"Oh I'd love to!" Keimi exclaimed, "But I'm working right now…"
"It simply cannot wait!" Pappug cried, "How much do you make at the moment?"
"800 Beri an hour, Monsieur," Keimi replied, hesitating slightly.
"That's it?!" Pappug yelped, "No no! That won't do! You will work for me from now on!"
"I will?" Keimi said, confused.
"Yes! You will be my muse!" Pappug declared.
"Oh my!" Keimi clapped her hands together.
"And possibly feed me clams all day," he added sheepishly, "A fashion designer's got to eat. What do you say?"
"I just have one request!" Keimi said.
"What is it?"
"Will you teach about fashion design? "
"Of course! You shall be my muse, my feeder, and my apprentice. Now, let us get started right away!"
"So that's it, huh?" Kuzan chuckled darkly, breaking off into a bloody cough.
"Yes," replied Sakazuki, crossing his arms. "I applaud your effort, Kuzan."
"Right then, take it," Kuzan said, spreading his arms wide, opening up his chest. This was it. An honourable death. He only wished he could've done more…
"No," Sakazuki said, shaking his head.
"Really?" Kuzan asked, raising an eyebrow, "Now you choose sympathy?"
"Do not mock me, Admiral Aokiji," Sakazuki snarled, lava dripping from his fingertips.
"Codenames, huh, Akainu," Kuzan sneered. "I thought this was a fight to the death."
"It was," Sakazuki said, each word clipped and professional, "until I decided you are much too valuable a man to just kill off."
"Valuable, huh?" Kuzan muttered, staring at the gap where is leg used to be. He waved over the scorched skin on his shoulder, covering it with a thin layer of ice. Relief hit him like a wave. He let out a long breath, and collapsed to the ground in a sitting position.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, closing his eyes.
"I want you to continue working as an admiral."
"Don't wanna," Kuzan yawned, stretching out and lying down.
"Why not?" Sakazuki grit his teeth.
"I'd have to work under you, right?" Kuzan sniffed.
"Yes," Sakazuki replied, exasperated, "you're aware of the significance of this duel, are you not?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Mr. Fleet Admiral," Kuzan murmurred.
"So then? Why do you object to working under me?"
"Because I despise your version of justice," Kuzan cracked open an eye. Really, Sakazuki should just kill him now. They had been training and working together for over 20 years, and the man was still oblivious to his partners' thought process. Kuzan would not continue working for the Marines. That would not change.
"It's not as if anything will be changing," Sakazuki huffed.
"No," Kuzan laughed, "everything will be changing, Sakazuki. You being at the top means a giant imbalance of power. What little moral justice exsisted in the Navy will be crushed under your rule. The world will shake under injustice."
"The real injustice is the fact that the Navy continues to allow pirates to run rampant in the Grand Line!" Sakazuki argued. Kuzan detected a large shift in the other man's emotional state. Kami knows what happened to this moron when he was younger, for him to grow up into this…this thing.
"And the world?" Kuzan taunted him, "Are you going to keep lying to the world too, Sakazuki? About how everything is working out in the Navy's favour and how everything is under control, and nothing is the matter?"
"Nothing is the matter," Sakazuki hissed.
"You've fooled yourself too, huh?" Kuzan sighed. "There's no helping you now."
Kuzan urged his ice to form into a prosthetic, which bonded with his leg. He tested his knees, and found that they were still functioning. With a grunt, he pulled himself to a standing position, awkwardly wobbling on his new, cold limb. He inspected the ice, and smiled.
"This will do," he hummed pleasantly.
"Let's go back to HQ," Sakazuki said stiffly, turning towards the direction of the boat they had arrived in.
"Sakazuki," Kuzan said. The other admiral looked back at him. "I'm resigning from my position."
"Fine," Sakazuki grunted, "Have it your way."
"What a cold response," Kuzan laughed.
"From you?" Sakazuki smirked.
"Got me there," Kuzan scratched the back of his head.
"I won't miss you one bit," Sakazuki grunted.
"I never imagined you might."
A.N.: I adore working with the Admirals. Pappug was a nice change up too. I kinda inflicted my troubles with Writer's Block onto him (haha), as to give you a tiny look into what the past week has been like. I'll go a little more into my explanation in the next chapter. Kuzan is so much fun, man. Him and Fujitora just give me tons of hope that the Navy will be cooperative one day. I hope that day comes eventually. Reviews, Favourites, Subscriptions, Reader Birthdays, and Requests are welcomed and much appreciated!