Chapter XLIII: Chat, Is This Real?

The butt of a mug slammed down against the wooden table with a satisfied breath from the large man. Deciding that he had drunk enough for the moment — though his doctors would say any was too much — he looked over the script once more. They certainly were toeing the line with each livestream. In this unprecedented territory, it was hard to say just how far they could go without getting in trouble. Not that he cared; the marines going after him would mean war after all. A bellowing laugh came from the thought, all but shaking the room as he threw his head back.

"Let them try," he told himself. "I'll come out of retirement just to show them a thing or two."

"Show who what, Pops?" Marco was double checking their equipment. The technology was far different from the simplistic snails they once used, filled with tangled wires and plug-ins.

The man grunted dismissively. "I'm just thinking to myself, Marco. Just get the stream ready."

Minutes passed before they were finally ready to go live. The man settled into his chair, a large structure that would fit three normal humans in its width, but barely encompassed him. He pulled the mic closer to his face, double checked his lighting, and made sure he could see his software set up in the leftmost monitor. Then, after a quick countdown, he went live.

"What's up guys? Whitebeard here with a new topic today. I'm going to be talking about ten things that the government is hiding from you."

His live chat slowly trickled in, visible on his central monitor. Overnight he had become a sensation, as to be expected of the former rival of the King of the Pirates. Formidable in his own right, many were interested to see what the powerful man that had seemingly disappeared was now up to.

"Real quick before we start, you may have noticed that I had to change our symbol. Quiver threatened to ban me for it, and I threatened to invade them in return. Eventually, we settled on just changing it and everyone's happy."

Chat blew up in anger, or so he expected. It was difficult to tell when it was moving that fast and the words were flashing by. Not to mention his difficulty reading in the first place. Marco insisted that he could benefit from a pair of glasses, but Whitebeard would just scoff at him. He was old enough to live as he pleased, dammit. That meant not having to deal with finding anyone who would make a custom pair large enough for his head and wasting the money on them when he could see just fine.

Having calmed down, Whitebeard could see that chat was attempting to use the old emote in a form of protest, but it was gone now. That had been part of the deal. With that initial headache out of the way, he squinted down at his paper just to triple-check where he was starting.

"Alright, first on the list is seagulls. What the marines don't want you to know is that they're free. I mean, they're just flying around and there's nothing stopping you from just grabbing one and taking it home. Now if you manage to get one, there is a law about feeding them, so you'll have to let it eat on its own. But don't let that stop you from going out and getting your free pet. Can I get some Free-beards in the chat for that?"

Sure enough, his chat blew up with the Free-beard emote that he called for. He gave them a moment to have their fun before moving on.

"The next one on the list isn't so fun," Whitebeard admitted. "This happened some years ago, back when I was still sailing around. See, in the West Blue there's this small island. Its most notable features were a large tree that spanned nearly the entire island and its jagged coast, which made it look almost flower-like. Now, on this island were many scholars — and those of you who know this story may have picked it up from that alone. This island was Ohara. Now, whatever the scholars on Ohara found out, the government destroyed everything on the island for it."

A text-to-speech message popped up and interrupted him. "Hey Whitebeard. You're so large you probably just passed gas near Ohara and caused a natural disaster."

The message disappeared before Whitebeard could properly read it. "Mods! Find whoever sent that message and ban them. Ban them right now."

After collecting himself, Whitebeard continued the story. He went over the void century and how there were rumors of Ohara looking into it. He also mentioned the famous tax evader Nico Robin who had been evading since she was eight.

Wrapping up number two in his list, Whitebeard closed, "So overall, the Ohara incident pretty much sucked. A pretty big L from the World Government in my opinion."

Another text-to-speech popped up. "Hey Whitebeard. This is the World Government department of natural disasters. We need you to stop ripping ass near islands. The population is in danger."

"Mods! Ban him!" The words left his mouth before he even paused to look at who had sent the message. He could hear Marco sighing in the corner, and he could already envision the face he was making while pinching the bridge of his nose. It was, after all, Marco's job to help with that.

From there, the stream continued with minimal interruptions. Whitebeard was aware of the jokes his viewers would pull, and despite his anger he wouldn't actually ban them. More often than not, Marco would just give them a slap on the wrist. Once the list had been concluded, Whitebeard moved onto other topics that he had ready for the stream. It was ready to get his YallTube clickbait thumbnail and title ready.

"Guys, I have something to show you all." Moving windows around his screen for the stream to see, it suddenly showed for them a panel saying 'The One Piece' with a multitude of question marks. "Chat! Chat, is this real? Is the One Piece real?"

He pressed a button on his soundboard, and a song started singing, "Can we get much higher…" Behind him, Marco rolled his eyes.

Ace burst out laughing, nearly spitting out his coffee as he did. That would have been a shame since it had taken forever to get the milk for it. Watching a former yonko become a Quiver streamer was interesting in its own right. The man certainly had the toughness that came with his old title, drinking booze and moving about when he was hooked up to machines meant to keep him alive. What made it even better were the comments that poked fun at the streamer. How they hadn't noticed that Ace was the one making most of them with the use of several alternate accounts was anyone's guess. Maybe they just didn't pay attention to how close the names were.

The stream paused as a call came in on his scroll. Seeing the caller id, he picked it up with a lazy, "Hey, Sabo."

"Oi, Ace. I need you to look into something for me."

"I'm doing fine," Ace ignored what Sabo had said. "Thank you for asking instead of immediately giving me stuff to do."

On the other side of the call, Sabo let out a frustrated sigh. "This is important, Ace. Someone stole a devil fruit that was on my ship."

Taking the call more seriously, Ace leaned forward in his chair. "Alright, but what do you need me for? Who took it?"

"I think it was the Revolutionary Army," proposed. "They've been making bigger moves, not to mention their growing online presence. That Adam Taurus is doing wonders for how they're viewed by the public, and if they fall into favor of the public, it will get hard to keep them under control without backlash."

"Damn," Ace cursed. "Well, are we breaking into their base to get this? Is that where I come in?"

"No. It's probably not worth that. While I would hate to give anything to the revolutionaries, I don't see it worth kicking the hornet's nest for. No, I need this as a favor since I'll be busy."

"Busy?"

Sabo sighed again, but this time much longer and with much more fatigue. "I need to help a certain brother of ours. He needs a new ship, remember? Not to mention his crewmate has a habit of getting lost and disappearing." Clicking his tongue, Ace agreed to help out. It wouldn't be the first time they had an arrangement like this with Luffy involved. That wasn't to say that Luffy wouldn't help them as well, but Luffy had the uncanny skill of attracting trouble.

It was to the point that Ace and Sabo had a running bet on the next situation Luffy would get into. Anytime either of them was right, they would get a point, and at the end of the year, the loser would pay when they went out drinking. At the moment, Sabo was claiming Luffy would start a fire, and Ace had his bet on accidental mutiny. They were currently debating whether or not punching a celestial dragon was a point for Ace.

Whitley waited patiently for his food to arrive. On one hand, it was surprising just how easily he and his crew got away from the marines. On the other hand, he would never quite complain about that — except on the days he wanted the thrill, but he was fine with it at the moment. The soldiers had seemed disoriented between fighting and orders, and that angry, vacationing woman served as a perfect distraction.

The door to the pub swung open forcefully. While it wasn't quite a slam, it certainly wasn't respectful. Speak of the devil and she'll appear — the angry woman from earlier marched on in and sat right next to Whitley. Wondering if she at all recognized him, Whitley shot her a curious look. Her boiling glare back was a definite maybe.

"I'm parched," the woman leaned on the bar. "Get me something to drink, will ya?"

The bartender, who had been trying to serve someone else, decided the angry woman looked a bit too dangerous to ignore. With the click of his tongue, he went about preparing a drink. Maybe some sort of house special since she hadn't specified anything.

Deciding his food was taking too long, Whitley butted in, "Get me one of what she's getting too."

Moments later, they both had tropical looking cocktails in front of them. Glancing to his right, Whitley sipped his at the same moment the woman did.

The woman's lips curled into a smile, "Oh, that's perfect."

Whitley, on the other hand, spat his drink out over the counter. Coughing, he said, "That was terrible! Way too strong!"

The woman's head whipped to stare him down, as if he had just spat at her instead of the counter that the bartender was wiping down now. While returning to nursing her drink, the woman ordered some food. Strangely enough, it was exactly what Whitley had ordered. Much to Whitley's disappointment, they arrived at the same time. How had his food taken longer than hers to cook?

Brushing off the agitation, he lifted his fork and slowly took a bite. Instantly, his worries disappeared. This was some of the best cooking he had in his entire life, though that was hardly an accomplishment. It only had to compete with anything he had eaten since running from home.

That being said, he couldn't stop himself from declaring, "This fish is absolutely delicious."

At the same exact moment, the woman spat hers back at her plate. "This is disgusting. It's way too salty!"

Whitley and the woman shared a long stare before Whitley slammed more money down on the bar. "I'll take two of the fish."

"I'll take five drinks," The woman topped his order.

"No, actually I'll have ten of the fish."

"Twenty drinks."

"Fifty fish!"

"One-hundred drinks!"

"I'll take all the fish you have in stock!"

"I'll drink you dry!"

By now, Whitley was stood on his stool as he and the woman glared angrily at each other. Customers, sensing the tension, had begun to disperse out the door when the shouting started. The bartender was looking increasingly frustrated, but he kept working through the shouting instead of confronting the two pirates.

Right as Whitley sat back down, the door to the pub burst open once more, this time more forcefully. There was a brief moment where clopping could be heard before something struck a wooden beam holding up the roof. Whitley had only turned in time to witness a tanned boy flying across the room, crashing into a wooden table and sending everything on and around it scattering across the floor. The boy groaned, picking himself up from the wreckage. A goat, the poor creature that had slammed into the wooden beam, dizzily shuffled over to the boy, making soft noises at him.

"Sorry, Yagi," the boy apologized. Then, as he looked up, it seemed to register that he had far more people to apologize to as well. "Uh, sorry everyone." Laughing nervously, he began inching back toward the door.

The next person to enter the pub moved the door with a refreshing calmness. However, Whitley was far from happy to see the jacket of the man that entered. If Whitley remembered his conversations with Cavendish correctly, he was looking at a high-ranking marine, perhaps even an admiral. The lack of uniform underneath the jacket said it might be the latter, as only the higher ranks could get away with wearing something like a yellow suit.

"Shit," the boy began frantically looking around to find anywhere else to go. He spotted a side door and sprinted across the room, the goat following closely behind him. Whitley kept his head down as the admiral passed them by.

As soon as the side door closed after the admiral, Whitley heard his money being slid off the table. He turned to see a large sack of food tins placed in front of him and a keg in front of the woman.

"Please, just go now," the bartender asked.

Gary laid down on the long couch, staring at the ceiling above him. His thumbs twiddled nervously as he mulled over the question asked of him. It wasn't so simple to describe the effects of devil fruits. Certainly not when they had been used on a person. Of course he could be figurative; he could compare it to other fantastical ideas that matched what had affected him. That was not what he wanted, however. After the incident, he needed life to be logical; it all had to make sense.

"I first remember that his fingers touched my uniform," Gary told the therapist. "It rippled like the ground did when he used his devil fruit. Then — a-and then h-he swam through me. I felt intangible, but I could sense his arm reaching through my chest."

The therapist nodded, quickly jotting notes down into his papers. "And after the incident, were you given time to process this?"

Gary shook his head. "We had more important matters at hand. The goat had been stolen."

"A goat?" The therapist looked slightly incredulous but masked with professionalism.

"Yeah. The fleet admiral's pet was stolen by a boy that also had a vice admiral's soul in him."

There was a long breadth of silence before the therapist carefully clicked his pen and placed it on the table in front of him.

"I think we covered a lot today," began the therapist. "I feel as though we still have much to discuss, but that can be saved for another time."

"Can we talk about the barrel that wasn't a watch?"

Nodding, the therapist assured him, "Yes. Why don't we start with that next time?"

Ruby inched carefully past the door. Her heart was pounding as she imagined at any moment she would be caught. Penny was keeping a lookout, and now she had Blake and Jaune ready to jump in if needed. They all agreed that while Blake had been the stealthiest, Ruby would have the best chance of escape due to her puppy eyes. Speaking of puppies, Zwei was there too with Penny. Zwei had wanted to be with her, very clearly, but he would have caused too much noise.

They had split up not too long ago. Sun, Neptune, and Neo had gone out to scout the area, both for marines and rival pirates. Nora, Ren, and Cardin went with Rayleigh to work on getting the ship coated. As for their group, Ruby couldn't stand the thought of anyone else being in chains like she had seen. It got even worse when Rayleigh mentioned there might have been another shipment. People should never be referred to as 'shipment.'

When Ruby had insisted on going, Rayleigh gave her some tips for her to use. The first was to not break the collars or try to remove them in any similar fashion. It would have been easier if Penny had gone in with her, but Rayleigh had informed them that there would be a key somewhere that she could snatch. That alone would give her a chance to free the prisoners.

Ruby slinked past the cells, her eyes darting from side to side. Some of them had been criminals — pirates, at least. She had learned that, but it did nothing to quell the boiling of her blood. It was all she could to keep herself calm, otherwise she would be using her semblance to sprint around until she found the key.

Exiting the cell block dripped anxiety into her pool of rage. She no longer had the assurance of a closed door between her and the slavers. She snuck farther back, avoiding the central area the best she could. The path led her first behind the stage and then into a barren corridor. Lights hung down, flickering eerily as she went. At the very end was a door with a large plaque labeled 'Dr. Evil.' Since there was no better name for someone in charge, she pressed her ear against the door and listened.

It was empty, she was confident. The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open. She crept inside, and there was a click. Ruby's blood froze as the lights switched on around her. Lazily sitting on a desk toward the back of the room was a woman with rich, blue eyes, black hair, and a cowboy hat.

"Um, hi," Ruby squeaked, backing up. This woman didn't look like the Dr. Evil she had been expecting. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled pleasantly. "Just someone who's never paid taxes." A hand popped out of the wall behind Ruby, causing her to yelp. It came from nowhere, as if it had sprouted from the surface itself. It dangled something metallic right next to her ear. "Looking for this?"

Yang huffed, crossing her arms as they dealt with the rough waves. The smaller vessel handled the rocking pathetically compared to the marine ship they had been on not too long ago.

"Maybe we should have found them before we got on the tiny boat floating after them," complained Yang.

"We didn't have the time," Pyrrha insisted.

Yang rolled her eyes. "I get that this is important to you and all, but we had plenty of time. The worst he can do is post more crap, and we can always show that he was wrong."

Pyrrha shook her head. "We needed to do this before the Straw Hats left Sabaody."

Yang's eyes widened. "The Straw Hats are in —" her voice was barely audible, but it caused Pyrrha to freeze. "You knew where they were?"

Realizing her mistake, Pyrrha tried to backpedal. "W-we have time to take care of this first, Yang."

"So now we have time," Yang growled, standing up. "When it was about some accusations, we couldn't be moving fast enough, but now that my sister is involved —"

"This isn't about your sister, Yang," insisted Pyrrha. "I promise, we'll help her and —"

"It should be about my sister! That's why we're out here, isn't it? We set sail to find our fucking friends and bring them back home, and here you are worrying about a criminal making you look bad!"

"Please, Yang! This has — this has just been bothering me too much! Everyone's going to see me looking like the scum of the Earth! What happens when everyone I know sees this?"

"Don't worry," Yang's voice simmered as she sat back down. "I get it."

"You do?" ventured Pyrrha.

"Yeah. I get that you don't really care about them enough."

AN:

Okay, I promise I don't hate Pyrrha. She just happened to serve a specific purpose in this story of mine. Personally, I'm actually a bit of a fan of the ship between Pyrrha and Yang, so I find it interesting that this is the first strong emotional scene that I wrote between them. I'm hoping to write a redemption for Pyrrha in the second part of this story, but for now — tensions are high.

We're getting close to the end of part 1, and I think I might only have two chapters left in this. If I don't wrap up any of my subplots, don't worry, it just means that they're where I want them to be for now and I'll continue them in part 2. As for the writing of part 2, I'm brainstorming ideas at the moment, and I'm open to any ideas that you all might have.

Thank you all for reading thus far. I feel honored that anyone cares to read this fun little thing I decided to make.

Anyways, next chapter: The Master Tax Evader