Previous Chapter: Treatment - Next Chapter: The Gala

While the city came to life preparing for the gala a scrawny child wandered alone by the craggy shoreline. He ran his hand along a time-ravaged ship that had been deserted at the Water 7 scrapyard. The remains of its once proud flag were barely wisps in the wind clutching to the end of a splintered mast. From the moment he'd first come across it the old boat felt familiar to his touch, though something told him it'd been resting among the junk heaps longer than the ten years he'd been alive – there was no way he could've met it on the water in his lifetime. Over time he realized that although it was porous and textured with age it was likely made of the same wood used to build his father's ship.

His father's ship. Gloomy eyes darted to the horizon but deep down as he watched the heavy swells he already knew he wouldn't be seeing it again; the ship that had carried him so far since they left their home in South Blue all those years ago. Together they'd survived countless situations; storms, sea-kings, enemy pirates, all the damage taken from drunken crew members and poor helming. With all his heart he wished he'd had enough time to show his appreciation; patch things up with all the materials he'd found before it was too late. The ship had at least deserved that, he thought.

He had to bite his lip to stop the quivering as he remembered that somebody else would do things like that now; it wasn't his boat to love anymore, not even a little bit. His only wish at that point were that they would take care of it and not let it fall to pieces out at sea.

Defeated, he picked his way down to the waterside while misty gales whipped through his bright blue hair and kicked up the waves. The chilly water reached out and stung his bare feet but he barged through anyways; waded on until he was waist-deep then plunged an arm into the depths. He swore loudly as he pulled out an empty trap. Hours had been spent fashioning it from scraps of the old ship and so far it'd only caught several fish. He tossed it back then made his way back to shore.

As he headed back to the decrepit boat he couldn't help but wonder what it looked like back in it's glory days when it still had a crew to accompany it; how far it had travelled; the stories it held. He wondered if it had been allowed to live a full life adventuring on the sea until it was ready to retire or if someone had just left it alone and in desperate need of care. Something told him it was the latter; the way it leaned towards the water gave the impression that it was ever-waiting for whoever abandoned it to come back.

Like he always did, he patted the wood on his way by to remind the ship there was still at least one person who cared. The poor thing could never be seaworthy again but he promised he'd find more ways to bring it new life. For now, he appreciated it as the home it was to him and how it had provided the materials for the trap that caught him the occasional fish.

He hoped it was like he always imagined - that ships could think and feel emotions just like living beings. Maybe it was nice for this one to have some attention after being alone so long, he thought.

How long?

The growling in his stomach drowned out his pondering. After a long glance back towards town and the delicious smells drifting from it he ducked into the cramped shelter he'd made below the ship's deck. No matter how tempting it was, after his last visit there was no way he could ever go back. For such a beautiful island it was filled with terrible, ugly people.

Timidly he'd come from the scrapyard up to town with some coins he'd found scattered along the shoreline in hopes of buying food, but from the first step he took within the city walls the townsfolk he came across looked at him like he was nothing but a scrap of rubbish. Adults turned their noses up at him and shooed him away from their shops, other children mocked him and pushed him around; it wasn't long before one of them made off with his money.

He tried to block out the memories along with the shelter entrance behind him. Even though he was still cold it felt good to have the wind off of him. Among some old sails he'd salvaged he curled up tight and closed his eyes.

Sleep didn't come but his busy mind drove wild through the night. Whenever it came to the end of the day he couldn't escape thinking about everything; how he got where he was now and the ever burning question - where would he go from here. Where could he go? He couldn't even build a vessel good enough to float let alone leave the island.

The one person who'd shown him kindness brightened his bleak thoughts and left him with a shred of hope to cling to. With his calm voice and gentle touch he'd been so different from the others on Water 7 – from anyone he'd met. He knew it would be a fool's errand to face the massive city just to try to find and thank him but that didn't mean he couldn't dream of it. After all, the young man had saved him in more ways than he could even begin to imagine.

Two boys older than him had approached while he sat looking out on the water. They seemed friendly and wore fancy, important looking uniforms so he didn't protest when they sat with him. Meeting others was overwhelming but for that brief time he was glad; making friends was something he'd long wondered about, regardless that he was unsure of how to act in such a situation.

"Flam." He answered slowly, uncertainly when they eventually asked his name.

"I haven't seen you around before, Flam." One boy was blonde with kind features but a strange air about him. He spoke sweetly though, and that was a welcome change from how he'd been jeered before.

"Probably coz I haven't really been here before. Just the outskirts."

The two exchanged looks.

"Let's show you around then!" The other, a chatty redhead, patted him on the back.

Flam's face lit up and he followed them through the streets. They introduced themselves as Brae and Des.

"You've got quite an accent, Flam. Where ya' from?" At first Des kept him talking while Brae observed quietly.

"South Blue."

"I can't recall if I've ever met anyone from there yet. Whereabouts in South Blue?"

"Don't remember. It was a long time ago." His eyes brimmed. "It's awful here on land. When do you get used to it?"

"Being on land? Ah, doesn't take long at all. It only took me a few days after I came here from Arabasta." Brae piped in reassuringly.

"Oh..." He was sure it had already been a few days but still he felt out of kilter, faint, sick.

"So you haven't been here long at all then, have you? Where do your folks live?"

He frowned and stared down at his dirty feet. After a long while he shrugged.

"You haven't got any folks?" Brae sounded sympathetic.

"I-I ran away. Left them behind. They were useless and I couldn't stand to be around them anymore!" He growled, fists clenched.

"No kidding!? Good for you! But we can't just leave you out here alone...can we?" he beamed "We're gentlemen, after all. You need someone to take care of you."

"Of me?" He scoffed.

Before long they were trying to coax him into meeting "someone important" and it was then he began to feel apprehensive.

"An adult?" His voice shook; he didn't want to be around any adults – remaining alone sounded much more favorable.

"Yeah! He just adores kids and he's very rich – he'll make sure you'll never have to be out on the streets like this again. He can give you anything you want." Des gushed as he spoke, his red hair bright in the setting sun.

"I don't know..." he felt the sudden urge to back away and run from their phony smiles and the closeness of their bodies.

"What's there to think about?" He snatched up his arm.

Flam shook his head fiercely.

"Let me go! I don't want anything!"

They didn't let him go but instead tried pulling him along against his will. Though he was exhausted he somehow found enough strength in him to slip away from the harsh grip. He tried to scoot off but Des was quick and grabbed his buttoned shirt to yank him back. It jerked hard against his neck, gagging him, but without hesitation he retaliated; grabbed and bit hard into his arm.

He escaped when the boy screeched and cradled his wrist to him.

"Hey! You little bitch!" Their shouts rang after him as he ran but they faded the farther he went.

He ran for hours before he stopped to look around at the city that had been so cold to him thus far.

The summer breeze tangled itself up in curtains that hung in the many brightly lit windows. He watched their glowing dances reflect on the endless waterways; it could've felt like being on the twinkling starlit ocean if not for the callous maze of a city around him. He found himself hating it, hating it all - the cobblestone ground, the bridges, stairways and those glowing, glaring windows. No matter which way he turned it all looked the same and kept him going in circles; his tiny body couldn't keep up the search for the familiarity of the scrapyard any longer. He collapsed under a bridge and cried.

At some point he slipped into a light sleep and dreamed of being back on the ocean.

The sea lulled him with it's waves; comforted him like only it knew how to do. In his dream he was back onboard, hammer and nails in hand, fixing up his only friend in the world: the beloved boat he'd been longing to see again. He was relieved that neither his father nor the other crew members were in sight. For awhile it was quiet as he worked. He broke the silence as he moved on to his next task.

"They haven't been good to you, have they?" His voice shook as he gently sanded the helm.

Of course the ship didn't reply - it never did, but the way the flag snapped in the wind as they bobbled up on the waves was enough for him.

"I'll do my best for now then, okay? I'm so glad you found your way back to me."

He squinted up at the skies with a hopeful smile but was confused to see a different flag than he was used to – through his teary eyes and the shafts of bright light he could see vivid shades of yellow and red contrasted by rich black and crisp white. When he looked back to the helm it was fashioned of the grandest wood he'd ever laid eyes on; he grabbed hold and threw his head back in the sea-salted air with a carefree laugh that'd never escaped his lungs before. His hair was wild and everything was sunny.

When he snapped awake the streets were quiet of all traffic. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around; his heart ached at the sight of solid land. He shivered, stood and followed the faint sound of the ocean.

He found himself in an area where the buildings were more grand the farther he walked. He tried not to look at them; dark and looming with unspoken threats that sent chills up his spine. From the corner of his eye he saw a figure silhouetted against an oversized windowpane and something about it unnerved him. He picked up his pace so he was running again.

His cry echoed as he teetered and fell; unable to stop himself at the edge of a wide canal. The darkness had hidden a silent body of water between the pair of old vine-covered mansions he was trying to escape. After he pulled himself out of the water he scuttled away from the foreboding property but when he turned down a side street a hand clamped over his mouth and squeezed tight.

He knew it was the boys from earlier immediately without looking; he could feel it. The grip over his mouth kept him from shouting out though he knew no one would help even if they did hear him.

"Aren't we wasting time? Let's just leave this one and head back to the school!" Des sounded apprehensive as he made the suggestion.

"Wasting time? How long has it been since we've had a go ourselves?" His blonde compatriot dropped Flam to the ground "How is it fair that we're always doing the work but we never get any of the fun!? Ghylls doesn't have to know we took a little…detour. We'll go get the boy when we're done here."

"Suit yourself. She's a bit young though, isn't she? I mean…" The redhead pointed down and laughed nervously at Flam "She seems pretty tiny."

"Old enough to fight, old enough to fuck." His grin was wide as he leaned down over him with a small gun. "It's been awhile since I've had a girl…"

"I-I'm not a girl!" He protested and clambered back from the muzzle of the tiny pistol; he knew well what power such things held.

The blonde just laughed at his soft, high voice and thick, dark eyelashes; things that in his mind were telltale signs of femininity.

"You think I'm gonna fall for that bullshit!?" He pulled him back by his hair; the goggles he wore atop his head were knocked to the ground.

He hooked a finger along the waistline of Flam's swim trunks and tried to yank them down but the young boy resisted; shouted out profanities in a language foreign to them and twisted himself around until he could land a hard kick to the side of Brae's face, then again square in the nose. He clambered to stand so he could run again.

"Des! Get the little bitch!" He held a hand over his nose as it gushed blood.

"Are you serious? This is more trouble than it's worth!" He sounded irritated but followed orders.

When he got ahold of him Flam smashed a headbutt between his eyes. With a frustrated grunt he threw him down hard but the tiny boy bounced back immediately to his feet and leapt forward, clawing and biting.

"Just grab her!" The blonde's face was crazed and smeared with blood; he was furious to see him dodge away from the significantly smaller child. "What are you doing!?"

"The kid's fucking insane, let's just go!"

Brae wiped some of the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve before he took the boy head on. He wrestled him to the ground and put the gun to his head with a triumphant snicker. Des soon joined in with laughing and taunting him as he thrashed about – growling, swearing and shouting.

"These vagrant brats really are like wild animals! It's no wonder Ghylls only wants them if they're fresh to the streets!" He cackled while he fought to hold him down "Grab her arms would you!?"

He obliged but didn't look happy about it.

"We can't waste all our time on this runt!" he looked around anxiously "We gotta finish the job before Dylin's back at the dorm!"

"Just make yourself useful and watch for-" Before he could finish Flam jerked to the side and grabbed an old wooden post lying at the edge of the alley and before either could restrain him again he drove it across the side of Brae's head.

With an aggravated shout he ripped the post away and tossed it aside before he knocked the tiny boy back to the ground with a heavy backhand.

"Can't you do anything!?" He glared back at Des while he delivered a few swift kicks to Flam. "You're always wasting time worrying about the wrong things! We're almost in with Ghylls' crew for good – we'll be set for life!"

"But-"

"What did I say before about Dylin? I'm not sparing him another thought – it's not like we need him anymore. If we see him, we'll just shoot him." He spoke calmly as he beat the boy down "He's nothing. Nothing but a spoiled punk who plays tough. He thinks he's so untouchable…" He straightened his clothes with a scoff. "The first chance I get to fill him full of holes I'll take it."

He bent back over Flam and reached for him, the gun brandished in one hand.

"One more move, and I'll empty this into your goddamn -"

Flam winced as the telltale sound of the firing weapon filled his ears but when he saw his assailants as surprised as he was he realized it was coming from elsewhere. He took the moment of confusion to knock the gun from his hands and make a break for it. Even though he was quick one of them managed to grab his shirt and yank him back. He ripped at his buttons so he could slip out of the shabby garment and escape. The following gunshots shattered the night and ricocheted but somehow missed him each time.

He wasn't sure when they stopped chasing him, or if they'd followed at all, but when he finally had the nerve to look back and saw nothing but the empty streets and waterways he collapsed. He stayed slumped against a stone wall and forced back tears as quietly as possible just in case the boys came near again.

For a long time he sat, shivering, unsure of what to do next. It seemed no matter if he wandered or if he lingered he'd find trouble – or trouble would find him.

"Ehi, ragazzo!"

When the low voice called out from nearby, he was shook to his core – he hadn't heard any footsteps or other signs of life. He wiped away his tears and tried not to let the approaching stranger see his face. His father always said boys weren't supposed to cry and he didn't want to do anything to be mistaken for a girl again.

"Hey…" The young man stopped a short distance away and knelt low; he could've easily blended in with the shadows if not for his lucent skin – he had on a dark jacket that echoed the rest of his clothes, his hair and eyes.

The smaller boy sniffled and curled up tight; tried to make himself scarce – he didn't have it in him to fight or fly anymore.

"Is this yours?" The deep voice remained steady, calm.

Judging by the way he spoke with such a thick, unfamiliar accent Flam guessed that he probably wasn't from Water 7 either and it made him felt safe enough to look his way. He was surprised to see him holding out the shirt he'd left behind.

He nodded his reply then hid again.

"Well, here you go. You must be cold, eh?" He shuffled closer and draped it over him, smoothed it out on his back. After a moment he murmured. "You've been hurt too..."

It wasn't a question but Flam felt compelled to nod an answer.

"Who did this to you? Do you know them?"

Careful to keep his face hidden, he shrugged.

"Two teenaged boys?"

After a pause he nodded in reply.

"One blonde, one red-haired?"

After another nod the young man abruptly stood up straight and looked about.

"I'm sorry to keep bothering you with the questions but did you see which way they went?"

"N-no…" He finally managed to stutter after he pulled his shirt back on.

"That's okay. I'll still find them. Thank you." He surprised Flam by placing his scratched up goggles gently in the palm of his hand "What about you, ragazzo? Where are you supposed to be right now?"

After a moment of staring in awe at his newly returned goggles, he spoke as strongly as he could.

"Do you know how I can get to the shore?"

"You gonna go out on the water at a time like this?" He sounded dubious.

"No." He frowned "Just gonna go to the scrapyard."

"The scrapyard? You're a ways off from there, little one. Let me draw you a map, eh?" His calm voice comforted Flam.

So he did – he quickly but carefully mapped out the city with the quickest and safest route out on a silky kerchief from his pocket. When he passed it off to him his voice and expression were firm.

"Stay safe. I'd walk you but someone needs to deal with those two. Just…try to stay safe now. Okay?"

He set a hand on Flam's head to ruffle his hair but the boy flinched at his touch and took off running. He sighed as he watched him run. Right before he vanished from sight he turned back and called out to him.

"They said they were going to a school; they were gonna go after another boy!" he hesitated before he fled.

"Like hell I'm gonna let that happen!" His voice thundered as he raced away in the opposite direction.

Back at the scrapyard he sat in the rundown ship. Faint music and laughter haunted him from the city beyond his little world; what many people considered pleasant sounds only served as a harsh reminder of his isolation.

He traced his stiff fingers along the already fading ink of the velvety map – the only gift he'd ever received. It'd been weeks since the young man had showed such kindness to him but he still felt that same hopeful spark as he reabsorbed each line that'd led him back to a safer solitude. Overcome with regret for turning tail and running, he couldn't help but wonder what became of the dark haired stranger after they'd parted ways; if they'd ever meet again and most of all, if he'd managed to save the other boy.