You're wondering how

You will pay, for the way

You did behave

'The Specials - You're wondering now'

Chapter 8

Ugh, I groaned, in groggy pain. The first few moments of a hangover are something I know well, too well, and always seemed to forget come mid-afternoon. The pain, the liquid stomach churning like a rough sea over shallow rocks. The headache, all dizzy and splitting, like your brain is being compressed and cut up with a saw at the same time, the light of day an affront to your very existence. Why god why, why did I drink two bottles of rum last night… ah yes I ran out of beer. Blessed beer, beer doesn't make you feel this bad. I leaned over the side of my vessel and spewed pure liquid stomach lining into the sea, then fell back into the boat.

Being a practised drunkard, I knew my limits… well that's rich, I knew the limits of what I could achieve with a level 8, no, level 7 hangover. First take stock of the body, all my clothes were in place, dishevelled and dirty but in place, my limbs thankfully much the same. I felt my face and winced, oooh yeah, still hurts like fuck. One week since my duel to the death with the nameless bald demon and my face was swollen and painful.

I tentatively pulled my shirt off of my injured arm and inspected the shallow bullet wound I had received from Vulping. It was thankfully uninfected and that was about all I could hope for. With how much hard alcohol I had consumed in the days prior I would be surprised if anything could have survived in my body. I had dug the small pellet out with a pocket knife, disinfected with rum on the same night after making it out of eyesight of that ill-fated island.

Now to take stock of the situation, judging by the sun, it was almost midday. I looked about the boat, the sword 'Aji' I had buried to the hilt in the cabin of my boat. I think I found that very humorous last night, hanging from the handle was my belt with 'Hejira', my trusty cutlass hanging from it. The boat, other than that, thankfully was undamaged, I was moored in a reef close to a small island, the sails were furled, the anchor was dropped, and everything seemed in order. I pushed myself up searching on my hands and knees for the canteen, found it and took a few sips, rubbing the liquid onto my dry lips. Then I fell back, the boat was spinning, I quickly scrabbled over to the side and heaved my guts into the ocean, ugh, I ran a hand over my face, this was pathetic, I'm glad there is nobody here to see this.

"You alright there mate?" called a chipper young voice from beside me.

I looked up through half-lidded eyes to see a young man, older than he sounded perhaps, but not by much, mid-twenties if I had to guess. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat over soft curly blonde hair. He smiled at me half mocking half sincere.

"Ughhhhhh" I groaned at him uncomfortably.

He nodded with a chuckle, "I've been there, come by the Spit and Sawdust later if you fancy I'll cook you up something proper"

I looked at him for a moment, he was in a small dingy, fishing, two rods in the water as he rowed it slowly.

"Thanks," I looked about my boat and saw I would have to come to the land as I had no food left on the boat "I may do that… I'm Algae."

"Pluto" he nodded to me and set about rowing in earnest, back to the shore.

I undressed and rolled myself into the water, the shock of the cold bracing my body, cleaning away the stench of last night's debauchery. I paddled about hanging off the side of my schooner, before hauling myself clumsily back in, getting dressed and sailing into the small docks.

I moored my boat and walked lazily to the harbourmaster to pay a small fee of 5 beli. My coffers were growing surprisingly slim after I stole so much money from my old landlord. I meandered about the town, it was an old place, that seemed blissfully ignorant of the passing of time, with dusty streets and houses built of rock and wood, with thatched roofs. I smiled at the people in the street, all of them seemed to have something to do, but no great hurry about it. I walked up to an ancient woman, sweeping her stoop and smiled in greeting.

"Excuse me love, do you know where I can find the Spit and Sawdust?"

"Oh yeah. That's Marge's son's little thing, just follow this road out of town and you will see it before long," she explained pointing down another dusty path leading out of town following the coast to the west.

"Thank you," I bowed slightly to her.

"No matter deary," she smiled and waved me off, returning to her task of sweeping the dusty road of debris.

So I set off, peacefully taking in the smells, sounds and sights. The hangover had subdued somewhat, a dip in the ocean without fail does wonders at healing almost any ailment. That had left me in a sort of peaceful malaise, that hangovers often gave me. Like the demon that drove me to drink in such an excess, was for a time satiated. It was a comfortable feeling, no matter how unpleasant.

I stopped and sat on a fallen tree for a moment, as this was a particularly beautiful spot. I sat beneath the speckled shade thrown from the branches of another tree and looked out on the expanding blue, spread out to the horizon. The sky is the same, each one only distinguishable by shades and the motion of waves and clouds. I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes.

With no one around I spoke out loud "I have wasted the best years of my life" I breathed deeply again "I have no one to blame but myself, I forgive myself and promise to spend what is left of my life, not ruled by fear."

I stood up and carried on down the path, lighter now, unburdened by something, I left behind beneath the shade of a tree. The rest of the way was pleasant surrounded by fields of animals or seasonal crops. I came across what must be the restaurant I had been invited to. It was a ramshackle building, made of wood, beautiful in its imperfection. It was a medium sized house, with the establishment, a single story building attached to it, which must have been the restaurant. Outside was an amusing selection of tables and chairs, no two the same, some were wicker, some metal and others chipped and faded wood, trees dotted about with hammocks, rope swings and nets to play games of volleyball, badminton and whatever else the children could imagine. Speak of the devils, there were two running about now, one with a bucket of water chasing another screaming as a mother shouted out of a window after them, she saw me and smiled in greeting.

"Hey there stranger," she called with a wave and a smile.

"Hi," I replied with a wave of my own, and a no doubt less dazzling smile, "a man named Pluto invited me out this was for lunch, at a gaff called The Spit and Sawdust?"

"Sounds about right" the kind looking woman shook her head in well meaning exasperation "Pluto is my husband, he is over there in the kitchen just go inside and to the right."

"Thank you."

"No bother," she said and tucked back inside the window.

I wandered over to a shallow structure attached to the beautiful old house. The two contrasted one another, while both were undoubtedly built with love and the use of only what was at hand, the house looked like it was built by a master craftsman, who simply had to make do with the tools and supplies at hand, the smaller wider building had none of the same air of great craftsmanship. Both were strewn with wandering plant life, hops, berrys and other winding weeds tangled their way in and out of the many cracks and crevices.

Inside the low building it was cool, with a fresh breeze passing through. Dotted about within were stools and tables, the floor notably, was covered in a mixture of sawdust and woodchip as a makeshift flooring. The smell however was by far the most pleasant part of the experience, frying foods and bubbling stocks drifted about the place, with wild herbs, wood and smokey notes. Towards the far end was a bar running across the room, behind it was the man I had been looking for.

"Pluto," I called out to him.

"Algae," he shouted back with a welcome smile.

He put down whatever he was working on, towelled off his hand and came around, and shook my hand firmly.

"Glad you made it up here."

"Thanks for the invite, Honestly it was a godsend as I'm completely out of food."

"Well that was lucky then, here take a seat I'll sort you out, you must be starved," he showed me to a stool at the bar facing the kitchen.

I sat down, Hanging my important possessions on a small hook under the bar. Pluto got straight to work, mixing something in a metal cup, and adding dashes and drops from little bottles. He was engrossed in his work so I just watched, after a few minutes he placed in front of me a small glass, I looked inside, and to my surprise sat inside looking back at me was a bright orange yolk of an egg, with splashes of liquids swimming around it, then from the metal glass he poured over the egg yolk he poured a small measure of a clear liquid that swam inside of itself in a way I found very familiar, it was a cold spiritous liquid.

I looked up at him now with a raised eyebrow, and he looked back, half smirking "Go on, down in one."

Never one to shy away from such a challenge I performed as instructed and felt the different liquids slide off my tongue not entirely unpleasantly and down my throat. I placed my glass back on the bar with a cough as a slight burning sensation began to make its home in my throat.

"Wow," I said with another cough and a chuckle.

Pluto laughed with me now "That was a prairie oyster, gin, egg yolk, and a few other bits."

"Why's it called that?"

He collected my glass and stowed it away somewhere, "No clue," the younger man informed me with a laugh, "My grandfather taught me, he built the house too, swore it was the only thing for a hangover, but people tend to have a love-hate relationship with them"

"No shit," I laughed some more, "I think I love and hate it in equal measure."

I took a deep breath and looked around, there was the odd chicken in the bar, picking between the sawdust, it was a wonderful place.

"It is a beautiful house, who built this bar?" I asked.

"That was my mum and me. She loved to cook, taught me most of what I know, and she was great at it too. Neither of us were great craftsmen like her father was but we got by."

"I think I prefer the bar, it's my kind of place, looks like it shouldn't even be able to stand but keeps on anyway" I informed the younger man presenting him with my best attempt at a kind smile.

"Thank you, sincerely, I could tell you were the right sort, you just sit there and let me get you some food."

With that Pluto set about the kitchen with a cool and calm fervour, each move practised and comfortable. He moved effortlessly like an oar through clear water. I sat back and after a few seconds of watching felt like a voyeur and turned away. I watched out the window, as the leaves danced, the children played and the animals paced about eating as they went.

I pulled out my bag and looked inside, sat inside wrapped in cloth was the same royal purple pineapple that was never more than a moment from my thoughts. I had run my test, It was very simple really, I found a small uninhabited island, cornered a boar and fed it the devil fruit, then I collected all the fruit on the small island, as well as a few pineapples I had on my ship and killed the boar. One of the pineapples before my eyes took on the shape and colouration exactly the same as the one I had fed to the boar, confirming my theory. Firstly I had the knowledge that Devil Fruits reincarnated in the nearest appropriate fruit. Secondly that I had in my possession the Home Home fruit, a fruit containing the fearsome ability to control any possession within your home, and to have a semblance of omniscience, to observe the goings on within one's own property(s).

This is where this fruit creates within me a serious moral dilemma. As the more property a person owns the more powerful this fruit will become as a means of surveillance and control. If owned by a very wealthy person, or god forbid a world noble. This power could reinforce their already despotic rule to new heights of control. They already have their own laws, separating them from the average person as a ruling class of elites, entitled to murder and enslave as they see fit. Their autocratic tyranny enforced, by the Marines, a seemingly benign organisation, created to protect the innocent from rampant criminality in the form of this golden age of piracy.

However, I had witnessed first hand, coming from the slums of the capital port city of Loguetown, of which lesser world nobles would pass through. They were afforded a different standard of treatment from the Marines. Whether they requested people to be beaten for walking in their path, or people to be subdued and delivered to their personal quarters, the marines would do it. Some hated it but they still followed orders. The one time a true world noble came through, on their way to some tour of affiliate nations within the east blue, they had an entourage of guards, and slaves, chained up with explosive collars.

So the moral dilemma as I saw it, was that while I would be paid enough for this fruit to probably become a world noble myself. I find the idea so abhorrent, so sickening I cannot do it. This begs the question, what do I do with the fruit?

Should I throw it away? Someone else would find it no doubt and with less scrupulous morels. I could destroy it? Knowing no way to destroy it with any finality, it would only manifest again in the nearest appropriate fruit. Should I eat it myself? What would be the point, I own no property it would be useless for me to possess, and when I die which will surely be in no great length of time, it will simply reincarnate.

I began to drum my fingers against the wooden bar I was sitting at, no closer to a solution to my inner turmoil. I blew out a slow steady breath, no use losing my cool now, I am alive and I have time to figure something out. More than any of that, I am free and to do as I please.

"Foods ready chum," Pluto chirped.

He reached down and placed a bowl down in front of me, rice, a great big pile of the fluffy white goodness, steaming away. Next came a large bowl filled with braised meat and veggies, then an array of pickles, flat bread, sauces, and to top it off a glass of red wine.

"Wow"

…

I looked between the man before me and the food, again and again. The food was still, steaming and so so beautiful. The man was beaming from ear to ear, and in this moment just as beautiful.

"This is the best looking and smelling food I have ever seen" I could cry, I really could.

"Shut up and eat, I've got work to do anyway" he said with no animosity, and walked away back to work on something else.

I tucked in with gusto, the meat and vegetables fell apart, unleashing torrents of moist flavour so powerful they took my breath away. Each element of the meal is a compliment to each other.

While I ate, people turned up from the village, bringing food, drinks, instruments, blankets, torches and so on. Pluto fed them all, some giving what they could in money, others, trading ingredients, fish, flour, vegetables, whatever they had, while others helped, running around delivering food and drinks, helping in the kitchen or just doing what they could.

After I finished my food, I sat and watched nursing the wonderful bottle of red my friend gave me. And I would call him a friend now. People erected torches and made the place beautiful, some people would take turns playing music and singing, kids ran around and played, and adults moved between tables, so merry and full of wine and conversation.

The evening was warm, somehow calm and peaceful and so abuzz with good energy, created in this place, and at the centre was the ever smiling, and ever working Pluto. After a time he finished making food and a crew of younger people took it upon themselves to clean. He came and sat beside me, pouring himself a glass of wine and depositing another bottle between us.

We sat and talked into the night, and he offered I could stay in a hammock on his land and I gratefully took him up on the offer. He told me he had made me a small bag of supplies as he was sure I wouldn't be staying long, a sentiment, I tried to hide my sadness at, as I think I would quite happily live out the rest of my days in this place.

Slowly the people drifted home, corralling wild children and wine weary partners. Each expressed their thanks to the man sat beside me. Then he himself took his leave, having to take care of his family now, and left me. After some time, I made my way to bed, and quicker than I had in years, at least not whilst black out drunk I fell asleep, so deeply and soundly, I would have happily never woken up…

"Algea…Wake up"

An unfamiliar voice shattered my deep sleep

I looked through bleary eyes, and in the barest hints of morning light, I saw a familiar face, adorned with a familiar black skull cap.

This surely can't bode well.