Xenoglossophobia

Characters: X Drake, Penguin, Shachi. Rating: K. Warnings: None

A little known fact about X Drake – so little known that only he knew it – was that while he had long since kicked the cowardice he'd been known for as a teenager, there was one thing that could regress him back into a state where he was emotionally compromised. To say that it struck fear in him was perhaps not true, but with no exposure to the culprit since his teenage years, he had no way of knowing how he'd react if confronted with it once again.

Not, he'd thought, that that would have been a problem. It was region-locked, kept to the confines of a small island far, far away from anywhere he frequented after being drafted into the Marines, and had no reason to move. As long as he stayed away from that little trio of islands in the far north, he'd never need to face it.

In the middle of the Grand Line, working under Kaido's flag, he was wholly unprepared to hear something that should never have made it that far.

Different islands often had different native languages. The majority of their inhabitants also spoke Common, for ease of communication with traders, but as a young pirate Drake had discovered that those outside of the World Government's influence, in particular, vastly preferred to natter away in their native tongue in front of unwelcome visitors.

Some would say that the native language of Swallow Island was beautiful to listen to. It had a melodic undertone to it, with a lilting accent that made it sound almost like the speaker was singing, capable of enrapturing the casual listener. Minion Island's was similar – Drake had never worked out if they were separate languages or simply alternate dialects – while Rubeck had all but abandoned their own language due to the Marine presence forcing Common upon them. If not for the proximity, Drake suspected that both Minion and Swallow Islands would never have adopted Common at all. Then again, he'd never found any examples of writing for their native languages, so either they kept it close to their chest, or the languages were purely verbal.

The language(s) of those far northern islands was unique, in his travels. No matter where else he'd been, deployed to almost every corner of North Blue during his time as a Marine, he had never found another language like them, which was nothing but good news for him.

Some said the language was beautiful. To Drake, it was the noise of his nightmares.

Fear had made the two islands address the Barrels Pirates in Common. Discovering that they had been victimised by previous pirates with no patience explained their paranoia, and made trading with the terrified communities easier. However, not everyone respectfully kept their words in an understandable language.

Back then, Drake had been a coward. He wasn't proud of it, but the fact that he had always cowered rather than take part in a fight was unavoidable, and he wasn't the type to ignore his own flaws. Despite being easily strong enough to deal with any dissent from the residents of the two islands – their occupied Minion Island, and the trade with Swallow Island – he could never bring himself to stand his ground.

Two younger teenagers had not only picked up on that, they'd capitalised on it. Running from them had done little good – they were fit, and knew the terrain better than he did – but there was nothing else that a young Drake had been able to do in the face of their aggression, even if he should have been able to handle them with ease.

Their confrontations had always been accompanied by that language. Words described as beautiful by people who didn't know better took on a taunting quality. He'd never managed to pick up the language, so the exact meanings of their words were forever lost on him, but what they were saying wasn't the point. The thing that drove the fear into Drake was the sound that heralded his cowardice, spoken by two teenagers whose hate he'd always considered unjustified.

"Thír cé ha na," he heard one day, on an island in the New World, far far from Swallow Island where the language was supposed to stay. The words were familiar, ones he'd heard many times before in his childhood nightmares, and even said in the exact same taunting tone he'd come to associate with them.

All that was different was the deeper voice, that of a full grown man, rather than a pre-pubescent teenager's, but Drake had thought he'd seen them around, once or twice, and had no doubts that the boys responsible for his intense dislike of the language – he wouldn't call it fear, even though it brought back irrational old feelings of flight when he was strong enough now that he should default to fight – had found him again.

"Ha na mura sé Hén Dory," came the reply, and he turned around, already knowing who he'd see.

Matching grins greeted him, and while the teenagers were teenagers no longer – well into their twenties, even though Drake didn't care for the specifics – it was impossible for Drake to mistake them for anyone other than his childhood tormentors.

He was stronger than them, now, and clamped down the old urge to flee as he reminded himself that a simple transformation should allow him to chomp at least one of them. Not that either of them were weak – weaklings would never have survived the journey from the northernmost reaches of North Blue to where they were now, in the New World and clearly comfortable there – but if he could just shake the cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck, the fight would end in his victory.

There was no fight, however. The men were not stupid, and had set things up well. Drake had no qualms about transforming to munch on them, but they weren't alone. Confirming his long time suspicion that as well as having far too much to do with the annihilation of his father's crew, he'd also recruited two of the most infuriating teenagers Drake had ever met, Trafalgar Law was slouching alongside them, lanky limbs arranged in a display that promised he would not stand idly by if his nakama were attacked.

Alone himself, Drake fancied his odds against the two men, but not his odds against the pair of them and Trafalgar all at once.

Convincing himself that he was not fleeing yet again, but rather tactfully choosing his battles, he turned back away from the smirking faces from his childhood and walked away.

He'd get revenge on them another time, and with it shift his irrational reactions to that one minor language no-one outside of Swallow Island had any right speaking.

A slightly different chapter this time, with a new outsider PoV, although I've been planning to do one from Drake's PoV for a long time. Chapter 112 - Familiar - (a long time ago now, I admit) explored the relationship between Drake and our Swallow Island boys a little, and I figured it was time to revisit it because I have a whole headcanon about their relationship to explore, although I may end up doing most of the exploration in a separate fic.

The language I'm using for Swallow Island is a jumble of Irish and Sindarin, which probably butchers both languages terribly in the process so I apologise to Tolkien and any Irish readers, especially as I only have online translators to work from. I don't intend on ever writing long spiels in it, because that's both a headache for me and liable to get confusing for you, but for this PoV it was necessary. What they said here was "Look who it is" and "If it isn't Dory-chan" [lit. 'Child Dory']. Xenoglossophobia is the fear of a language.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari