Thatch

In the infirmary, a groggy Thatch wakes by the sound of the door. By the sounds of it someone was having trouble with the lock as it clinks multiple times with the knob jiggling. Thatch quickly discovers why the person was having such difficultly with the door. An icy breeze sweeping through the room when the door creaks open on its frozen hinges. Thatch whines as his blankets fail to protect him from the intruding cold. Thankfully the door is shut once more and he hears footsteps making their way into the room.

Already roused, Thatch sluggishly begins to sit up. 'Man, It's been awhile since I've slept in.' He yawned, a brief thought to how well he slept last night.

"Morning George," Looking to the person who'd entered.

"Morning, Commander Thatch." George comes in, carrying a tray with a cover on which he places onto the bedside.

The man winced as he reached for his breakfast, the dull ache in his arm making the simple motion feel like a small battle. With a grunt, he pried the lid off the plate, steam rising in a lazy swirl. He looked over at George, giving a grin despite the pain. "Might be out to help in the kitchen soon, y'know, before everyone knows it" he said with a wink.

"Honestly Thatch, you're probably best staying in here at the moment. A few things happened and now a few of the commanders are not in the best of moods. So I wouldn't try your luck at the moment. Maybe another time or just wait 'til you've recovered."

Thatch knows which his subordinate would rather do but he pushes that aside, hearing what the other mentioned.

"Bad mood? Who? What happened?" Thatch asked, while thinking of various reasons. He really hoped in wasn't any of his side pranks that he'd left around for someone else to find. He liked to leave them hidden around the ship in various places, only for them to be found later. Much later. Few which he'd actually forgotten about 'til they are found. Anyway if it was one of those, he really hoped it wasn't that someone was Marc right now. After all his promise to the blonde was still in motion. 'Then again does it still count as I'm not cooking now?' He asks himself.

"Well it's quite a story." George begins, explaining the event that had taken place earlier. During the story Thatch gave many reactions from concern to confusion then disbelief. In the end Thatch was both sad that he missed it but also glad he was locked in the infirmary. If Thatch hadn't been no doubt he would've been the first suspect, but even he knew touching Izo's things was a big no no. So whoever the culprit was clearly didn't know or had forgotten that. 'Maybe it was one of the newbie's?' He considered though the newbie's weren't that new since the last ones joined about 6 months ago. 'Maybe they just forgot to tell them?' He just hoped whoever it was didn't get found, for their sake. Thatch shivers imagining what Izo could possibly do when they confronted them. Once again, Thatch had never been so grateful that he was stuck in the infirmary.

"I think I'll stay here 'til I recover."

"That's probably best. I'll send a hot drink in later." George states, making his leave.

"That'll be great," He comments, but realises something. "Oh, by the way George. For Lunch could you send me up a bigger portion? A Blenheim portion size?" At that the man gives him a bewildered look, but nods just the same. George gives a quick 'see you later' finally exiting, another breeze coming in as he did.

The door locking behind him.

A moment passes, Thatch sits up putting his feet lightly to the ground which he is relieved were not greeted with a bite.

Leaning carefully down, he places the plate onto the floor and gives it a nudge tucking it under the bed. He waits. However there is no sound. 'Looks like he's not here.' Since he would've heard Toothy's usual not so silent chewing and licking of the plate as he gobbles the sausages up.

Thatch was a little disappointed at the absence of the animal, but figured that Toothy would be back. Bored, he watches the snow twirl pass the window for a moment.

Entranced, it felt time was sweeping by. Though in reality in was just five minutes, but that was enough time for Thatch finally to realise his feet were starting to feel numb. 'Shit,' Thatch raises the them from the cold floor. In turn he massages each foot encouraging the blood flow, reducing the numbness.

He looks to his blanket considering to settle back underneath it. However even if he did Thatch doubt it would keep him warm for very long. 'How'd I not wake up from the cold before?' He wondered briefly, since the quilt wasn't thick enough for winter nights. With no other choice, Thatch decides to climb off the bed. His soles would just have to endure the brittle floor for now.

He walks further to the back of the room where a cupboard sat. Which if he remembers correctly is where the blankets were kept. Opening it to piles of them, he snatches up a think winter quilt. But reconsiders, and selects three more.

Returning with them all awkwardly in his only good arm, he drops them onto the bed. Then Thatch kneels down, careful not to agitate his stitched arm. Indeed beneath his bed was absent of any animal. Though he had already figure that was the case, a tiny part of Thatch was slightly hoping that he could have caught a glimpse of his companion. Possibly slumbering. Then again Toothy was extremely shy and would most likely not have appreciated that, so I was probably best that he hadn't. Taking this chance of absence, grabbing three of the quilts he stuff them under the bed. Arranging them in a concentrated pile in the centre.

'Maybe I'll ask one of the nurses to bring in some hot water bottles up later.' He notes, considering that the next few days will just be as cold if not colder. But the blankets would do for now.

Ace & Sabo

On the ship's deck, Ace let out a loud sneeze, startling a few of the crew members nearby. Sabo, who had been leaning against the railing, shot him a glance before waving it off.

"Bless you," he muttered, but before he could turn back to his thoughts, Ace sneezed again, this time more forcefully. Sabo raised an eyebrow, glancing at his brother. "You coming down with a cold, Ace?" he asked, a teasing edge to his voice. Ace sniffled and shook his head, brushing it off.

"I don't get colds, I'm fine," he grumbled, though his voice was a little hoarse. Sabo smirked, folding his arms.

"Sure you don't. But I'm sure walking around half naked in the middle of the ocean isn't going to help." Ace rolled his eyes dramatically, flashing a cocky grin.

"Hey, someone's gotta keep the temperature high on this ship." But before Sabo could respond, the blonde suddenly sneezed loudly trice, his face scrunching in surprise. Ace smirked, barely containing his laugh. "Guess you're the one catching something, huh?"

"Shut it"

Namur

Namur wasn't keen on winter islands, never has been. After all being a fisherman he was prone to frostbite, It's far worse than humans and him being a white tipped shark didn't help, he preferred warmer areas. Due to that, it was necessary that he covered up in extra layers compared to the crew in their usual winter clothes. To which Namur was heading to the supply room.

But unlike everyone else, his winter clothes were SO uncomfortable. You'd think by now in the whole grand line they would've found some comfortable winter clothes. Ones that didn't touch his gills or at least pleasant for his hands and feet. That last was the most annoying as he didn't like covering his feet in the first place. Barefoot was his style.

However Namur remembered the first time they'd gone to a winter island, as well as Marco lecturing him while the nurses fretted over his frostbitten feet. Namur had learnt his lesson and since then had always covered up during the cold even though they were awkward. Reminded of the memory Namur glances down at his scarred feet, however stops mid step.

Confusion gradually turns to intrigue, not by the snow beneath his feet but rather what was in it. To others it would be hardly visible just a scuff in the snow that none of the crew would notice. Unless you were a fishman. Being one himself, Namur had better senses than humans especially in water, so the slight impressions in the snow did not escape his keen eyesight.

Crouching down, inspecting the impressions closer. Hand to chin, Namur ponders at the unusual markings. It appeared something long almost whip like had swayed across the snow, creating a fan pattern. It didn't take a genius to guess what had made this. A tail.

Namur checks for any footprint but is perplexed by the absence of them. Either they'd been already covered by the falling snow or the tail erased them. If it was the latter that cropped up a whole new question. Was it coincidence or was the creature on their ship actually smart enough to cover its tracks?

No animal to Namur's knowledge did such a thing. Then again they were in the New world so it wouldn't shock him to finally meet a species that had evolved with such a skill. But then the question was, being a carnivore - evidence by the food it had stolen and how easily it had ripped into Thatch's arm - Namur didn't see the need as to why it needed to cover its tracks. Sounded something more like prey would need to do, in his opinion.

Right now, his palms were slightly sweaty, a pulse gradually crawling to his throat as well as an urge to pull back and pretend that he didn't see anything. His instincts are alarmed of something, yet that only made him want to find out what it was.

Namur debated between his instinct versus his curiosity. Eventually one won out. 'I'm probably gonna regret this,' he thought as headed after the trail.

At first it continued straight, moving away from the main deck for quite a distance before altering in many directions like a twisted maze. Hadn't he just gone up this way?

A few of the crew looking concerned as he passed them the Nth time, one even asked if he was okay before he waving them off. He didn't understand their worry it wasn't as if he was lost, unlike the creature he's tracking.

Eventually the trail ends, disappearing below the deck. Namur peers down the stairs his reasons of unease warranted, those steps lead down to the crews sleeping quarters.

Down below- he's relieved by the undisturbed doors that lined the corridor which he passes gradually moving further towards the end. This section mainly for the division commanders, who each had their own room.

There's a smell, expectantly it wasn't the smell of possession nor intimidation which was strong musky instead it's sweet. Too sweet like a meadow full of flowers. Almost as if someone had dumped… A thought occurred, and a whole new type of fear stuck him.

"Oh Neptune, not that." Swiftly Namur rushes towards a particular door, finding the said door left a jar, the overwhelming aroma wafting out from behind it. Reaching out a webbed hand, pressing the door open only confirmed his worry.

The room was filled with the sickly sweet smell, the source being multiple bottles of perfume scattered across the floor along with an assortment of makeup. Someone or Something clearly sweeping the dresser - that stood to the right of the room - clear of everything it had. The wardrobe next to it was left wide open, displaying a couple of empty hangers of which the contents were now on the floor. The contents being Izo's kimonos. The perfumes and make up staining onto the valuable fabrics - Namur only knowing the importance of the clothing from the time Izo berated anyone who dared touch them. And any hope of fixing the clothes was torn apart, literally. No amount of patch work was going to help that.

Izo's going to be livid when he finds out. 'When Izo finds out,' Namur gulped at the thought. Forget about the beast who had done this, there will be a whole new danger by the end of the day. Izo would be looking retribution. Davy help the souls who were nearby when that happens.

Grasping the handle, the door closes with a click. If Namur could whistle in that moment he might have, in an attempt to appear casual as he walked away.

Sure, Izo was going to know but Namur sure as hell wasn't going to be the messenger.

Thatch

Thatch glances down, a small ball bouncing between his hands. With a mock stern expression he says, "Now, listen here Toothy, pirates don't take things without asking. It's bad manners." He gives the ball a playful toss, letting it roll near the child's hiding spot. "If you want something, just as- er.." He remembering who he was talking to. "Look, you just gotta be careful what you take." The irony wasn't lost on anyone, but Thatch couldn't help but chuckle at his own hypocrisy. But if he doesn't do anything then he has a feeling he'd be facing more than an upset Izo later.

"Don't worry I won't tell," Thatch promises.

"Well. since you have this. Why not play a game?" Thatch's words receive a confused and what he assumed was a little excited yip. "It's simple. I'll send the ball to the other side so it hits the wall so it sends it back. And when it does it's your go okay?" He's given the same response as before. He takes that as a good sign, at least he hope Toothy understood it. 'Only one way to find out.'

Placing the ball back down, he kicks it causing it to jingle as it rolls across the room. 'Thump.' Hitting the wall it returns back but Thatch allows it to roll under the bed until the jingling stopped. 'Guess he caught it', Thatch smiled smugly.

"Okay now, it's your turn." A few minutes pass but nothing happens except hearing the slight jingles. Thatch begins to doubt that Toothy probably didn't understand the concept. Then the ball races out, a little faster than before. Once again bouncing off the wall back towards them. This time Thatch catches it with his feet. "Good job, Toothy!" He cheered, not only proud of his friend but also that he had taught him something.

"Want to go again?" A positive answer was immediate, and they begin again. Eventually they fell into a rhythm passing the Temari to one another, and the whole time Thatch was enjoying the bonding moment. Of course before he'd bonded with Toothy with food and talking to him, but this… It wasn't one sided anymore. This way Toothy was now more involved. 'Sure it was a simple game of ball. But still!'

They pass the ball back and forth, at times Thatch doing trick shots, which excited the other. Continuing the game, Thatch had the notion that Toothy's original home may have been near a human settlement or even grown up with them. He considers Toothy possibly had even been a pet since he took up the game of ball easily. But argues against it since Toothy was demonstrating shyness to humans. 'Maybe it was just to strangers?' If that was the case he hoped Toothy would trust him enough that they could properly meet. Though he was eager for that to happen he knew trust takes time. Especially from when Pops would adopt someone into the crew. Sometimes it can take weeks, others it can take months. Either way Thatch was a patient man.

However hearing the distinctive screams of Izo ringing through the ship, Thatch prayed hard to whatever higher deity that he was still alive for that day could come to pass.