Chapter 11 - On The Tip Of Everyone's Tongue Part 4

The good thing about Ravenspurn, Holliday thought as he made his way back to his apartment - after, of course, suffering one last raised eyebrow from his eternally stone-faced landlord -, was that it was it was just as much a civilian town as it was a pirate port.

The average dedicated pirate port tended to follow the Mock Town-model; dedicating almost all of the business and major streets to the pleasure of those pirates passing through, often leaving small amount of stable citizenry a secondary concern - just enough attention and space given to keep the town alive in the lulls between fresh arrivals, but never given precedence over the visiting pirates, lest a less friendly crew decide to wipe the town off the map for some vaguely defined insult or amusement.

Others had things remain separate - a clean divide and no small amount of distance allowing for pirates to go about their business while the civilians minded their own lives, usually on the far side of the island, only the barest amount of trade between the two allowing for their mutual survival.

Most were just normal ports that accepted the occasional presence of a passing pirate crew as the price of existing - nothing worth commenting on so long as they behaved, and nobody worth saving if something went against them.

But Ravenspurn had Marshalsea, a woman with the will and willingness to draw a line in the sand and then the strength to make sure everyone - even the Marines, in what unofficial capacity they could give - respected it. Her town was rough, messy, and certainly not where great material fortune nor high culture could be found, but it never treated its civilians or its visitors as more expendable than the other or as elements that could never be mixed for fear of 'tainting' the other, which was more than Holliday could say for most of the places he'd been in his life.

Eventually, it would end. Marshalsea was old and growing older with every passing year and there was no-one in the town or West Blue - or anywhere else short of the New World, if he was perfectly honest - who'd be able to step into the space she would leave behind when she eventually passed.

But for now, it was a peaceful place, where he could afford a simple two-bedroom apartment - in case he had to put up a fellow Revolutionary for a day or two - with a working shower and still be within easy walking distance of the Dead Admiral and the other bars of Ravenspurn.

There wasn't much more to ask for, really.

Turning his thoughts back towards more immediate concerns, Holliday picked through the day's prizes. The notes gleaned from Raine's boat would stay, as would the lotion Dr. Shimon had given him, while he would probably have to try to replace the medication at some point - there was a mild twinge of guilt at stealing something so vital to someone's daily function, even if it was an absence that would likely go unnoticed -, but the damnable latex shorts were immediately thrown into the garbage can.

And then, with that taken care of, he could turn his focus to the final and most important part of his day; his date with Marshalsea.

Step one? Taking a shower and getting the rest of that damn glitter off.

The process of getting ready for a date was relatively simple - really, it was just a matter of washing up, getting a nice outfit on, and waiting.

Marshalsea's closet was full of nice clothes, most of which of course, had stripes.

Stripes were a bit of a thing for her. Never just in one direction, though, like some people liked to play it - hell, Zahlia liked to stick with horizontals -, but in every which way that caught her eye. Just made an outfit more fun, that was what Marshalsea had always thought of it. Gave the colors direction.

Sure, the blouse and cardigan weren't anything like what she would have worn when she was younger, but at a certain point, a person's style had to change.

Well, Marshalsea corrected as she slipped on her sandals, most people's styles changed at some point. The likes of Garp and Newgate just settled for changing their shirt every twenty years or so.

"Whatcha think of this, Zahlia?" Marshalsea asked as she made her way down the stairs from her apartment.

"You look lovely, grandma," Zahlia said, leaning down to put a kiss on her grandmother's cheek. "Mr. Holliday is going to love it."

"I have been known to clean up good, cher," Marshalsea agreed, smiling as she smoothed out the purple and white chevrons of her blouse where it curved over her stomach. So she was fat - big deal. All of her partners had always been smart enough to appreciate a big gal's lovin'… or short-lived enough affairs where she hadn't figured on it being her problem.

Holliday was probably the smartest one yet.

Might have had something to do with that archeology certification of his, she figured as she sat down in her usual chair in front of the upstairs fireplace to wait, or might have just been some good sense left over from his marriage, but she was hardly going to complain about it.

Around seven, a familiar cowboy made his way up the stairs, wearing a matched set of hat, vest, and boots made out of electric blue snakeskin, bold raspberry red leopard print pants, and a black dress-shirt dotted with skulls, likely meant to match the feline skull tied to Holliday's hat band.

"Always one for the natural look, ain't cha," Marshalsea said, admiring how good the striped pattern of the snakeskin looked under even the slightly smokey lighting of the Dead Admiral. The whole outfit was fun and a positive wash of colors for the usually understated dresser, so she really couldn't justify laughing at him for looking out of place compared to normal.

Even if she still wanted to a bit.

"Well, when one of my friends offers me up first cut of leather from the zebra krait sea king they just killed, who am I to argue?" he said, the edges of his mouth curling in a smile. "I know it's a bit bold, but at least the stripes make us match."

A bit? "Bold's a good change of pace for you," she agreed, holding back the laugh again before pausing. "What's that smell?"

"Medicine. Let's just say that I had to take drastic steps to get into Dr. Shimon's office," Holliday said, pulling his shirt open just enough to the side to show off a wash of red raised bumps across his chest. "I did imply it was the result of a bedroom misadventure with you, just in case he follows up."
Finally, the roar of laughter Marshalsea had been fighting so hard to contain ripped out of her mouth, echoing off the rafters.

She'd seen the young doctor's face go through four different flavors of regret and three more shades of sickly greenish-grey the moment he'd realized that Marshalsea still had a sex life - there was no way in hell he was gonna follow up on a cover story that hinged on it - but it was icing on a cake already packed to the gills with absurdity.

"So the Incident from two years ago got moved up to earlier today," Marshalsea said once she was back under control enough to speak clearly, reaching up to flick a lingering speck of glitter off of Holliday's neck before reaching over to smooth the collar of his shirt. "You know, people get a mite more reserved about sacrificing their dignity at your age, Orsin."

The spy's face scrunched up in distaste at the sound of his real name. "Holliday, please. You never know who could overhear."

"Right, right. Serious secret agent man with all his pretty aliases. An old woman forgets."

He lifted her hand up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss against her worn knuckles. "Not so old."

"Well, not getting any younger at least," she shot back as she led him up to her usual table.

Darea glanced up at Marshalsea and her date as they passed before turning her attention back to mopping the floor. "You ever think we're wasted here, Bommy? Just background characters in someone else's story?"

Boma snapped her gum as she turned a page of her magazine, not even bothering to look up at her friend. "Hmm? You say something about Water 7?"

"…just forget it. How's the gossip rag?"

"Not a lot going on - think there's a new contest for World's Most Beautiful Woman going on again, but considering that like, half the 'contenders' are isolated and only known about via rumor…"

Darea let the words wash over her as she returned to her task. If nothing else, it would make for some good white noise to work to…

Right up until Zahlia interrupted, slamming two would-be-brawlers' heads into each other with a loud crunch.

"Darea, do you mind picking up two plates from the kitchen in a couple minutes? They're going up to Marshalsea's table," the mistress of the bar said, sweetly smiling like she hadn't just concussed two career criminals in a single blow. "I've got some trash to take out."

"S-sure, no problem," Darea said, trying to ignore the prickle of cold sweat that had broken out on her neck as the second scariest lady on the island dragged her unconscious victims towards the entrance.

Hopefully the first scariest lady on the island couldn't smell terror.

"Kind of a pity Zahlia didn't go into piracy - I think she could have done well there," Marshalsea said casually as her granddaughter threw two men nearly twice her width out of the door with a long-practiced ease.

"The family business isn't for everyone," Holliday commented with a shrug. "Some people have to find their own thing."

"Says the nerd who married a nerd and had a-"

Holliday and Marshalsea's conversation paused as the horned waitress delivered their dinner with barely trembling hands, setting down Marshalsea's fettuccini and ice tea before passing Holliday his baked chicken and cider.

"So y'all spent your day snooping 'round that boat. Dig up any good dirt on our lil' visitor to make up all that damage to your poor hide?"

"Not as much as I was hoping," Holliday said with a sigh. "There's was enough evidence to draw interest - Outsider books, sound disks, a few artifacts of unknown purpose -, but very little that was specific to Raine, beyond a vague idea of her music tastes, a… mildly disturbing obsession with dice collection, and a possible view into her medical history."

Marshalsea sighed. "And that's why you figured you needed Doc Shimon's take on it," she said, reaching up to rub a knuckle against her forehead. "I know I'm just gonna lovewhat you found out there."

"I figured he would be the best resource for knowledge of the latest medical advancements, given that your doctor has always preferred a more… homebrew approach to medicine, but that didn't strike me as being useful in identifying unknown medications from incomplete labels," the spy agreed. "In case you were curious, out of the three bottles I took from the boat, only one of them is for physical ailment - some manner of anti-inflammatory, almost exclusively used to manage-"

"- arthritis," Marshalsea finished with a grimace, taking a moment to rub her own knuckles. "Every seasoned fighter's pain in the ass. Are the fates themselves aligning to stop me from getting that fight in with this kid?"

"If they are, I'd say that it would have likely just been kinder to let Raine fight you the once and be done with it," he agreed, taking a sip of his drink. "Though I don't have a medical degree myself, I do have to wonder what kind of conditions a person would have to be kept in to have such rampant physical issues at such a young age."

"Eh, probably absolutely shit ones," the old pirate said, stabbing into a small pile of pasta with her fork. "Doesn't exactly paint a pretty picture of whatever place your Outsiders come from."

"…well, I'd hardly feel right painting an entire world with the same brush, given the nature of our own, but I will agree that it's not… confidence inducing," Holliday said delicately before taking a sip of his apple cider. "Of course, sometimes people find that sort of misfortune by pure accident, be it by birth or through some incident after that."

"Right," Marshalsea said. "Putting all that aside to marinate, you hear about what Meryl managed to get up to today?"

"Besides giving me an extremely teenaged reaction to finding out I was dating you when I ran into her earlier? No, do tell."

"Well, that was part of it, so I guess I can't entertain you with the descriptions of the side-eyes she was giving me the whole time she was down here to pick up dinner, but apparently that Raine's an artist too and has been teaching her a bit - not a lot, as far as I could understand, but it's something."

"Yes, there were some art books on the boat that I made a note of…" Holliday said. It was… good to hear that the two were getting along, as much as he lacked any proper connection with the young Dacey girl and didn't know what to make of Raine yet.

Clearing his throat, he spoke again. "On a related note, I was curious about the Wheel - call me what you will, but a structure that old just tickles my old archeologist's instincts, and I know such things aren't usually built in isolation."

"Once a nerd, always a nerd," Marshalsea said, smiling into her drink. "Well, I can't tell you that much - I might know a bit more of the lore than most people, but I have been sworn to a certain level of secrecy on some of it."

"But…?"

"The Wheel is only a secret to people who haven't been invited. And you have been, in a roundabout way, so it's fine. So yeah, what little I can tell you, I will."

The old pirate sat back in her chair, settling in comfortably before speaking.

"It's proper name… well, I can't say it right. The Daceys' had their own language that I couldn't follow for shit, but the full translation was 'The White Wheel', according to the fact that it's round and has 'spokes' on top of being made out of that white stone, you see, even if it's probably ain't that white anymore from the lack of cleaning. I imagine that back in the day, it was the point everything on the island revolved around."

"The family had their own language?" Holliday asked.

"Well, not just them. As I understand it, there was a whole… group of families that came to this island together from some other place - Eru or Euri or something like that - where that was the common tongue, and they kept it for the thousand or so years they've been here. Never seen an island by that name on any map I've ever heard of, but a thousand years is more than enough time for someone else to roll it over and make it over, new name and all."

Marshalsea paused to consider her drink.

"Funny to think that there's only the one left now, cause when I first came to this place… well, that was before Stonecutter got hit by that plague. Almost was a completely different island back then. Weren't big or nothing, but it was more… spread out. Homey, I guess, with neighbors and all that jazz. And near all of them spoke in that language. Now, I'm lucky if I hear Meryl talking to herself in it."

She fell silent for a moment before resuming her telling.

"Anyway, there used to be… oh, two or three towns on this island, along with some houses scattered around, the odd sacred spot up in some place nobody could get to easy - I'm going to ask that you don't go looking for those, on account of you not being invited by a Dacey. I might not be one for ghosts and curses, but I'm also not one to tempt the fates or any other observers that might take exception to that sort of thing."

"So the Dacey's were… a family of priests, for the people of these islands?"

"A bit. Whole thing reminded me a bit of how it used to work in my old home - mother passing down priesthood to her daughter, most the time, but if someone could to speak to the spirits that didn't have that, they'd be brought into it 'to keep them from callin' down trouble ghosts by mistake'." Marshalsea looked up to lock eyes with Holliday. "Not saying that I fully believe that ghosts are a thing, but still. Better not to leave that sort of thing alone. The people who used to live here felt the Daceys' did and Meryl damn sure thinks she does - so if she mentions her 'grandfather', I'm saying that she's not talking about anyone I ever met… and I know I met both of her parents' pappies, if you get what I'm saying."

"Interesting," Holliday replied, looking out over the main area of the bar. "Was one of those towns Ravenspurn?"

Marshalsea waved the idea off. "Nah. Ravenspurn isn't actually that old - just started out as a sandy area where I could bring my old ship to anchor safe-like, since the Morse Surge was too big to get through the Wheel's arch and the civilians that were here originally didn't feel over comfortable with a pirate on their front porch."

Not an uncommon story, to Holliday's knowledge.

"Didn't really build much of anything until after that plague swept through," Marshalsea continued. "Then, suddenly, I was the only person bringing any kind of stuff in and it just… kind of grew from there the more down time I spent here. Drew the survivors and other people to me, for different reasons. Funny to think about it, at this point. Just wanted a safe… well, safer place for my kids and found out a bunch of other people had the same thought. 'Build it and they will come' sort of deal, that's what someone told me when it happened."

The old woman shrugged. "Probably didn't hurt that I had Enda Dacey on the crew for a couple decades by then either, as far as the locals were concerned. Weird woman, but a hell of a navigator - could chart by stars and read the weather like nobody else. The year I lost her was the year I retired for good."

"No relation to the Admiral Benbow incident?"

"Oh, there was a relation… but that's not a story I want to get into at this moment. Better to stick to storying 'bout this island, than getting into matters of the Grand Line."

"So tell me about the other towns that were here before…"

As Marshalsea spun into what details she could give about Roxborough and Ravensroost - of which the only remaining structure was the Dacey house -, Holliday took notes. What he would do with them, in the end, he didn't know. Ohara was gone, he had no other ties to anyone else in archeology or history outside of the Revolutionary Army, where most interest lay in the big parts of history rather than the mundane lives of the people who lived there, so there wouldn't be anyone to really share it with… but at the same time, it felt wrong to let the information die.

Marshalsea was very possibly the last person alive who remembered the island as it once was, barring Meryl Dacey somehow having some manner of record or oral history passed down to her before the passing of her aunt. He was a historian, a person who's job it was to make sure that what was passed would be remembered.

It didn't need to be any more complicated than that.

Holliday woke up around three in the morning, sparing a glance and - when he saw Marshalsea was still asleep - a kiss for the woman he was sharing the bed of, careful to leave the contact as gentle as possible to avoid waking her up. They hadn't gone as wild as usual the night before, out of concern for his tender skin, but he'd still was loathe to make her lose sleep.

Dressing silently, he slipped out of Marshalsea's personal rooms and down to the main part of the inn, taking a place near the fireplace where the light was better.

There, Holliday opened the notebook he'd used aboard Raine's boat and began the process of going over its contents again.

There wasn't much there - normal enough for an early investigation into a civilian new to the area, but for all he'd combed through what he could of her personal effects aboard the boat and gotten what information he could from the observations of himself and others, there was much less than what he usually had by the end of nearly two weeks work.

From first hand observation? The girl was quiet, unassuming, uncomfortable with attention and careful in the way she carried herself but with a flicker of… something else underneath.

A deeper color of personality, Holliday decided to call it. Like a bold red splatter in a field of snow. Small, but attention grabbing because it could either be harmless but helpful berries or freshly spilled blood.

Whatever it was, it'd gotten Marshalsea's attention too, giving the old pirate an itch to test whatever mettle was there - and there had to be some, because Marshalsea wasn't the type to desire a fight with just any person who crossed her path.

Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising, for all Raine's sword was Meito quality and apparently cursed, for all its lack of a cutting edge.

Pulling the pill bottles out of his bag, he looked them over again.

Dr. Shimon had good eyes - well, a good eye - to make out the names of the medication through the water damage well enough to look them up.

Arthritis medication, anti-depressants, and anti-anxiety medication. Helpful, in so much as it illustrated the girl's health and a bit of her mental state. Anxiety, he'd seen. Depression? Not as of yet, but the black dog was a sneaky opponent in his experience, and one that was sometimes all too easy to hide.

Not like the name of the patient on the bottles - whatever forces had hidden that was a lot less deliberate and more of an unhappy accident, leaving only a vague sense of length and a handful of letters behind.

The family name was a complete loss on every bottle and the personal name was hazy, with only a handful of repeat letters in just the right pattern to point to 'Raine' being at least close to whatever the girl's real name was.

But perhaps, more concerning than that, was the fact that on all three bottles, between the unknown family name and the barely legible personal one, was a very familiar letter.

D.

Holliday carefully weighed his options as a mild discomfort curled in his chest.

It could be an abbreviation. Uncommon, what with the weight of that legacy, but not impossible.

It could simply be a misplaced part of the name he'd assumed to be some variant on 'Raine'. 'Deraine' or 'Dalaine' were reasonable options - but the girl hadn't introduced herself as either of those, despite their harmlessness.

Which left the last option.

To assume that an Outsider was a D. or that in general D.s had ties to Outsiders, was hell of a jump to make based on the evidence of this one case.

Most of it pointed to the girl being an Outsider. There was a handful of other clues pointing to her being a possible D. To assume that both things were connected was running the risk of getting attached to a theory that could spell nothing but trouble, yet… already was starting to become appealing.

The Government had an interest in both D.s and Outsiders that ran across similar lines - both things had a way of stirring up the status quo and it was often in their interest to keep such things contained or at least on their side.

Unfortunately, neither D.s or Outsiders seemed particularly inclined to that, as far as the majority went.

Did that make them related? Perhaps. Or perhaps that theory - just a seed, without any evidence outside of this one particular oddity - had neither substance or merit.

For now, Orsin - sometimes known as Holliday, sometimes known by many other names - decided, closing his notebook, he would simply watch. Watch, and take notes.

That, if nothing else, wouldn't be odd for either an archeologist or a spy.

Author's Notes

Alright, so that's the end of our experiment with cut down/split up chapters. The total word count of all of it altogether was well over 15,000 words (including author's notes), which might have been a chunk of change too far for a single chapter, but tell us how you felt about it as it was cut into pieces like this was.

Along with the conclusion to this chapter, we will be taking a hiatus from this fic to avoid burnout (DD in particular has been dealing with IRL life overload and family crises, which was a major contributor to the delays on this last chapter) and work on Pokémon fic for Monica.

This hiatus is not an indefinite thing and we do have a rough idea of how everything's parsing out on both ends as far as time/pacing goes.

'On The Tip Of Everyone's Tongue' is another lyric from the Oingo Boingo song 'Gratitude', the second one so far used in the fic - a third lyric will be used for the title of the next chapter.

DD* was worried that there was going to be too much exposition in these chapters, but it all came out pretty good and gave a bit more lore about Meryl's family history and Ravenser Odd + Stonecutter without being obtrusive.

DD* also realized after some conversations where I offhandedly mentioned the fact that Marshalsea was fat and Monica was like 'wait what since when' that I'd neglected to mention that detail in text earlier and the one art I'd managed of her before didn't convey that detail well (being an upper body shot and me having problems w/ drawing arms that weren't long twigs which I have been working on). So that's why it came up now of all times.

Also made a point of going back in Marshalsea's dialogue and tweaking word choice to fit in more w/ her established Southern accent.

On the subject of Holliday/Orsin - there's a bit of supplementary material for him on nvzblgrrl's tumblr, but considering that's very spoileriffic and also asking readers to go a bit out of their ways to look at it, we'll sum up what's immediately relevant and not immediately spoilery.

- Orsin is his real name, with Holliday being one of his many aliases.

- He's roughly 53 years old.

- He is a spy for the Revolutionary Army and has been for about sixteen or so years. Previous to that, he was an archeologist and historian, fully accredited by the Oharan Archeological association.

- He was married at one point to a woman he met during his studies at Ohara. His wife has been dead for almost the same amount of time that he's been with the Revolutionaries and her death did, in part, lead to him joining.

- As far as dating Marshalsea goes, he's been with her for a couple years and they have a full physical relationship. Marshalsea is one of the few non-Revolutionaries who know his real name.

- His preferred weapon are two six shooter pistols (he assembles the ammunition himself, since those aren't common firearms) but he's capable with a rifle.