A.N.: Hello everyone!
First of all, I would like to thank all of you for being patient while I focused on my health. I've taken my long rest, spent a week on the beach, and feel comfortable posting again. I haven't felt any symptoms of depression for several weeks now and am hopeful that the episode I experienced will not repeat itself any time soon.
Secondly, I may have fudged my posting schedule a little. I'd been wanting to slip in a little information about what happened to Willow and Geraldo between the time of the banquette at Baldwin's manor and the time Pierce was rescued. They contain some information that I felt would be out of place later on and yet didn't fall within the normal constructs of Karmen's story. I finally got to writing out these chapters and they ended up being really long (10-15k each), so I've broken them up into little units that I will post before I post the first mission chapter. Willow in Splinters ended up being four chapters and Rise of the Moth-Moth Man became five.
There are several chapters that these two units mention so if you'd like to refresh your memory they are 28, 31, 32, 39-44, and 49. Honestly, you only need a vague memory of the events in those chapters and I tried to include as much detail as possible, so you don't have to reread all of it unless you absolutely want to.
I've also started slipping in a lot of foreshadowing, so keep your eyes peeled. I hope you all enjoy reading these chapters as much as I enjoyed writing them.
"Gum Gum… Bazooka!"
The words ring through Willow's head along with a pounding headache caused by Baldwin's rocketing form slamming her into Ludovic. The Straw Hat boy had sent Karmen's husband-to-be flying into her and her brother. The momentum had sent them flying from the island like a bullet from her beloved pistols, pistols that are now at the bottom of the ocean, thanks to that fiery haired weather witch. Her ribs ache and she knows she'll be feeling that battle for several days to come.
Had they gone back to sea, then? Had Karmen once again turned her back on the family that raised her, in the lap of luxury, wanting for nothing, to live the life of a pirate?
Had Ikaika arrived with her hunters in time for the banquette, things would have been different. He'd insisted the government units and Baldwin's guards would be enough. The Warlords were otherwise occupied and Kuma hadn't even caught wind of this wedding. It was going to be so perfect this time. The bodyguard wasn't even there to mess things up. Ikaika had made sure of that. So how had it all gone so wrong?
She'd heard the crew's reputation, the barbarians. Enies Lobby had caused quite the stir. To hear that the first sighting of Karmen after nearly two years would be in a place like that was shocking to say the least. Willow had almost shot the messenger, who said it was possible that she'd been injured during the attack. The Warlord wouldn't be forgiving if the girl was hurt or killed. If it happened when Karmen was on her own, would it still fall under their agreement? If even one of the Warlords caught wind of her being harmed, it would be their heads, no matter what terms had been agreed to. It was why Willow had moved in so quickly to collect her. She'd been kind. She'd offered her a choice. Come willingly or watch her beloved crew and bodyguard die. With her, they could salvage the union between Baldwin's family and appease the Warlords by showing that she was safe. Even if Baldwin's stepmother didn't recognize him as a son, news of the failed wedding had been… unforgiving. Not only had his family been displeased, the Dragons in hers had been as well. That brat had put Willow and Ikaika in a difficult position. They had to move delicately to keep from being ostracized completely.
Willow would have liked to strangle that child for disappearing like she did the first time. Pistol whipping her bodyguard spy had been nearly as satisfying. Darling Ikaika had waited a month for her to return and collect the street rat, but had grown tired and moved back to Galaval. She couldn't say she was sad to see them go. He took Saaresto with him and kept Antwan, the team of bounty hunters, and her snipers. Kuma had killed half of them, deflecting their bullets back with his devil fruit powers. Geraldo's aim was almost as good as his predecessor's but not quite. Good help was so hard to find, and loyalty was more valuable than accuracy, and the kid had both. His loyalty was proven by his willingness to show his face after failing to apprehend her.
Still, he'd brought back the first substantial evidence of her whereabouts, carved into his skin. She'd actually grinned when she'd seen the letters marring his flesh. Maybe they had taught her a thing or two.
Following the magnetic lines between the last sighting to the Red Line afterward was easy, and luckily Willow had been visiting family in Mariejois at the time, so finding her again had been like Ménage à Trois Silk wine. She had her friend, Foiner Marina, send Baldwin an invitation to her annual gala (he'd never get in otherwise) so that he could help her keep an eye out. Her plan had worked immaculately. She'd even made a spectacle of herself, flaunting her hired muscle in front of everyone. Baldwin's information helped her narrow down Karmen's location. All it took to get her to come with them had been a flash of a photograph and a threat. She'd had the things from the first wedding neatly packed and ready to ship. Everything else was just a call or two away. They'd been so prepared for everything except security. The government's men were useless below CP level and Karmen had come almost too easily. Maybe she'd signaled her little friends somehow by spraying that mask with the perfume, a touch that Willow had found too sentimental for Karmen, unless she'd left a lover aboard. That would explain her aversion to marrying Baldwin. Maybe she knew the Straw Hats would come. Either that or she'd picked up a few tricks over her absence. The reports had mentioned poison. Karmen had left everything behind on the ship, but maybe there had been something up her sleeve other than that hideous X tattoo. The swollen faces of half the guests couldn't have been a coincidence. That ungrateful b-
Her thoughts are interrupted as she slams into a squishy, stinky mass that wraps around her. She gasps and flails, but only succeeds in swallowing salt water. She can hear splashing somewhere above her head, beyond the freezing water.
A firm hand plunges down towards her and roughly grasps her arm and she's yanked to the surface. She feels the squelching, knobby surface shifting beneath her hands and knees, a little more solid than where she'd been a moment before. She vomits sea water and coughs until her lungs are clear and raw. She can feel it burning from her stomach to her throat, just behind her teeth. Her head is sore where she had hit it and it pulses persistently with her heartbeat. She looks up at Ludovic's disapproving sneer and matches it, discomfort adding extra edge. "What are you waiting for? Find me a towel."
The coldness in Ludovic's dark brown eyes suggests that he wishes he'd let her drown. "Find one yourself." His heavy northern accent adds to the weight of the cutting disdain in his voice. Willow scowls at the similarities in their tones, one of the many traits that mark them as siblings. It was bad enough growing up with him, he doesn't have to use that tone after she'd been thoroughly disgraced by barbarians. He was her elder brother. He had to suck it up and continue to hold his head with pride and familial duty. Being the little sister, she's allowed to sulk and expects to be pampered. His continual glare suggests that he does not intend to oblige.
Sneering once more at him, she decides to humor him and lifts her head to look around, blinking away the pain that builds behind her eyes from the glare of the sun. They're on a large clump of floating seaweed. It squishes with every move she makes and bobs in the deep ocean waves in a motion that makes her feel queasy. The seeds in the long leaves pop under their weight and every movement threatens to push through into the ocean. Every direction she looks, there is nothing but water, splashing against their raft and itself. The deep rolling waves suggest that they aren't even over a reef or anywhere near solid land. "Where are we?" she asks.
"Who knows." He slides his empty glass acid tank off his back and sits down beside her. "We have no food, no water, no shelter, and no transport."
She gives the ocean one more cursory glance, already disliking the glare of the sun reflecting off the rolling waves. "Where's the useless barbarian reject?"
Ludovic's head mimics hers. "I haven't seen him come up yet." His tone is indifferent. He wouldn't care if he never came back up. She can't say she would care to see him either. He'd been nothing but a nuisance. Because of this, both she and her brother are almost displeased when a flailing hand breaks the surface nearby. "Oh. There he is." Neither of them move to help the man and eventually Baldwin pulls himself onto the seaweed raft. He's too busy trying to breathe to realize that they'd been willing to watch him drown.
"Does anyone have any water?" he asks when he can stop coughing. Willow feels the folds of her dress. Winston had made it as a party piece to her specific design. A product sample pack, if you would. No matter which room she stepped into, he'd assured her and her guest's glasses would never be empty, even if the useless serving slaves were nowhere to be found. She would always have something on hand to sell her product and ease business men into signing loose contracts. She has six bottles of DavenGallow wine stashed in hidden pockets beneath her skirt. Her eyes scan over Ludovic, who is doing the same to her. He has the faint outline of his vodka skin against his back beneath his suit jacket. It had been their father's design and her brother had picked up his sense of fashion. There is a tube connected to a nozzle in his sleeve. It makes for convenient party tricks and an easy way to set someone on fire. Ludovic had never quite picked up their father's... habits, but he did like strong drinks when he filled a glass.
"I don't have any water," Willow states.
"Nor I," Ludovic says.
"At least we have food," Baldwin says after taking in their situation. The pointed toes of his polished leather shoes push meaningfully on the spongy substance beneath them. Water pours in where he presses and he quickly relieves pressure.
Willow lifts a slimy leaf to her nose and sniffs. It smells like brine, fish, and month-old grass clippings. It's stiff and fibrous and waxy in her hand, and not at all palatable. Her stomach turns in revulsion and she tosses it away harshly. "I am not putting that in my mouth."
"If we find a way to an island we won't have to," Ludovic says.
Willow examines the water. The surface looks calm but she's had enough experience in the ocean to know what might be lurking just below the surface and how to use that to her advantage. She hasn't been riding in years, ever since she'd put on a few pounds, but her muscles still remember the technique. "With a little rope, I could harness a fish."
"Unless you brought rope you'll be out of luck," Ludovic responds. "Unless you know how to make it."
Willow's mind halts at the words. "You can… make rope?"
He nods. "I don't know how to do it myself," Ludovic says. "But sometimes sailors would weave it on the docks to pass the time." They both look at Baldwin, who's sagging shoulders make him look tired of both of them already.
"You could braid the seaweed into rope," he says.
"Braid?" More blank looks.
He stares at them, trying to keep his jaw from falling open. "You mean to tell me you never braided your daughter's hair when she was a child?"
Willow gives an indignant gasp. "Of course not!" She spits the words as if his statement was intended to offend. She turns away haughty. "What kind of low-class barbarian do you think I am? That's what servants are for."
"If you know how it's done, go ahead and do it," Ludovic says, making it obvious that he doesn't know how to either.
"I'm a politician, not a shiphand," Baldwin says in a voice gravely with his trademark temper.
"If you aren't going to work, then throw yourself into the ocean. Better yet, swim off and find me a fruit pastry," Willow retorts. "At least that way if you die we can be entertained before we die ourselves."
"I'm not your servant, woman," Baldwin growls.
"No, you're not," she snaps, his belligerence adding to the pounding in her head. "You aren't even a proper member of your own family. You're a government dog who will never do more than glimpse real power."
Baldwin's fist shoots towards Willow with his full power behind it. Her eyes widen, but Ludovic's hand catches the fist and stops it with a small shockwave that shakes their raft and sends ripples through the surrounding waters. He breathes heavily and his eyes burn red with veins around the edges. "If you ever raise your hand against my little sister again, you will live to regret it." The empty acid tank behind him gleams in the sun as if to solidify his threat. The man doesn't have a reputation because he's lenient on his enemies.
Ludovic can feel the tremor that runs through the man as he pulls his fist free. He doesn't say anything, but turns away, sitting down on the seaweed. He picks up a few strands and holds them up for Willow to see. "I'll show you how to do it, but you have to make the rope on your own." He spliced the ends together and began weaving the strands in a complicated, six-fold braid. It's obvious he isn't very skilled at it, but he'd at least seen it done before. After a foot, he hands it off to her and she holds it limply. She tries to mimic his movements, but she ends up with a tangled mess. She looks up to Baldwin, but he's staring out at the ocean and doesn't look like he's willing to offer any more help. She looks to Ludovic, but he's pointedly ignoring her. She lowers her head and keeps working. Her fingers feel thick and stumpy, unused to these kinds of motions. She only ends up with a lumpy knot. She sets it aside, deciding throwing it at Baldwin's head wouldn't accomplish anything beneficial. Instead, she discreetly pulls out a bottle of wine. She chucks the knotted seaweed into the ocean with one hand while she pops the cork with the other, effectively masking the sound with a salty splash. When the men's eyes turn away from her back once more she tilts the bottle to her lips and takes a sip, continuing this process once every thirty seconds. When she'd had her fill she pushes the bottle halfway into the seaweed and covers it with her skirt.
She sits and stares into the ocean, watching the blob float slowly away until something as long as her arm eats it. Her stomach growls. She'd hardly eaten anything at the banquet and it had been at least twelve hours since then. She misses her dainty tea cakes and cucumber sandwiches and her trays of sweets and grapes and cheeses. "There has to be something to eat other than seaweed," she groans. Ludovic leans over the edge of their raft and watches little silver fish swim in and out of the casted shadow, watching them nibble at the leaves and seed pods. His face becomes thoughtful and he pulls the glass tank from where it sits at his side. He dips it into the water and becomes very still. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Quiet," he whispers harshly. So she sits and watches him watch the half-submerged tank. Ocean fish, if not too bold for their own good, tend to be too trusting. She understands this and wonders if that's what her brother is banking on. After what feels like an hour, a fish swims into the mouth and he scoops it up. He sets the tank in the middle of the float triumphantly. The weight of the water and the glass cause it to sink several inches into the raft. The panicked fish swims in frantic circles, bumping its nose into the glass. When this doesn't work it settles into swimming circles around the edge. "Lunch." Ludovic reaches in, grabs it with little trouble, and pulls it out of the water. He uses his fingers to rip its stomach open and pulls out its guts, tossing them back into the tank. The fish is raised to his mouth and he takes a bite of the still twitching flesh.
Willow gags and vomits her wine into the ocean. She sits up, wiping her mouth. "I'm not eating that unless you find a way to cook it."
"Don't be such a princess," Ludovic says. "If you don't eat, you'll die."
"Or we could be rescued. I'm not eating fish straight from the ocean and I'm not eating seaweed," she states stubbornly. "Find me something else."
"Why don't you sing and call down birds to our location, sister darling? They'd be raw too, but it wouldn't be fish."
Her eyes narrow. "I swear I'm going to push you into the ocean when the next predator swims by."
Ludovic only chuckles and takes another bite of fish. When he's satisfied he tosses the remaining half to Baldwin. The man eats it without complaining, picking bones out of his teeth. When he's finished, he tosses the head and bare-bone body to Willow. She lets it fall and stares at it where it lands, nose curling in disgust. She enjoys sushi from time to time, but this is nothing close. This thing is barely fit for soup stock; at least, that's what she thinks she'd heard a chef say about a fish head once. She prefers giving food orders to servants to spending time getting all sweaty in a hot kitchen. She kicks the fish head into the ocean, deciding it doesn't matter so long as it's gone.
Within an hour she's bored again. The glaring sun is beginning to burn her skin. It reflects off the surface and beats on her from above, making her regret choosing the dress with the heart-shaped bodice. If they don't get out of here soon she's going to stew like a tomato and dry up like a raisin. She picks up strands of seaweed. How had Baldwin spliced the ends together? Turning her nose up at him even touching the stuff had made paying attention a little hard. She tries weaving and tying and braiding and ends up with something that looks like a bad fishing net. Still, it has a more uniform shape than her rope from earlier, so she keeps going. Eventually, she comes out with something roughly palm-leaf shaped. She holds it up with pride. "I made a hat!" She settles it over her head and immediately feels relief from the glaring death orb.
"It's hideous," Ludovic responds immediately. "Make me one."
"Make your own!" she hisses.
"Fine. Find your own food next time."
"I don't want your food! It's gross!"
"Would the two of you shut up already!" Baldwin roars at them. "You're giving me a headache! And take that limp dishrag off your head. You look like an idiot."
Willow turns away with a "herump." It's obvious that they're just jealous. She'd made something with her own two hands. What other Celestial Dragon would even be able to make that claim in a similar situation? She's proud of her hat and nothing they say can make her feel differently. Maybe when she gets home she'll make a new leaf-based fashion line. Something cool and shady to relax in the garden in. She misses her garden parties with the wine and tea, the sandwiches and cakes, the culture and high-born companies admiring her wealth and power and attire, and the servants to follow her every whim. How people lived without people at their beck and call is beyond her imagination. This is pure torture. She steals another swig from her wine and catches Ludovic sip some vodka out of the corner of her eye. They glance at each other and stash their drinks.
Night falls and they form lumpy, soggy pillows out of their raft. Willow waits for the others to fall asleep before stepping carefully to the edge of the raft and relieving herself. The men had merely stood to the call of nature earlier in the day, turned away, and released their bladders into the water. She finds this distasteful and crude, even if there is nowhere else to do it. Being the only woman around means that she doesn't have much ground to complain on, not that it hinders her in the slightest. When she's finished she cleans herself the best she can with seawater and seaweed, she lies back down, desiring the luxury of scented soaps and lotions, of silk bedding and mounds of down pillows. She can tell she's getting dehydrated. Her face feels tight, her lips are cracking, and her headache is worse. She stays awake, looking up at the taunting flicker of the stars and drinking wine slowly. Eventually, it takes hold of her and she begins to feel drowsy. She buries her bottle and rolls over to sleep.
The next day passes in much the same way. She tries her hand at weaving rope again, fails again, and refuses to eat the fish Ludovic catches and tries to trade for her lumpy failures. Hunger gnaws at her, but she refuses anything and everything they offer with an upturned nose. Everyone except Ludovic seems to be getting a sunburn. His darker skin seems to keep most of the UV rays at bay, and his enormous hair, despite being deflated from days without fresh product, seems to work as a hat all by itself, though his ears still show the faintest traces of rose. They argue. They talk about what they'll do when they reach land. As the day passes, Willow begins to feel weak and tired. When night falls, her words are beginning to be slurred by her thick tongue and her eyes feel grainy with salt. Her head pounds aggressively and she finds she can't argue and keep the pain at bay at the same time. Arguing takes too much energy. Eventually, she stops talking altogether, covering her face with her hat. Willow finishes the bottle of wine when the men go to sleep. She buries it completely under seaweed, relieves herself into the ocean, lies down, and goes to sleep. Unconsciousness envelops her like a quiet relief that she doesn't want to wake from.