Chapter Five – Somewhere in F District
Nami runs hard and fast, breathing evenly in through her nose and out through her mouth. Beneath her slender frame is lean muscle and although she is far from her physical peak, she is able to push herself when needed. Once she clears the shadows of the nearest alley and neither feels nor hears any indication of pursuit behind her, she abruptly stops and sidesteps into the narrow space between two dumpsters lining the cinderblock building. Putrid odours assault her in more ways than just her sense of smell and she forces herself to hold her breath and peek out beyond the rusty, dented dumpster lid. Far, far away, she foresees the faint flashing of fluorescent red and blue lights turn the corner and pursue its prey.
Nothing moves.
Safe.
Nami lifts herself up, feeling a faint tightness in her chest from the running and allows her breathing to deepen, pushing oxygen through her veins. Reaching up, she removes the hairband and shakes out her long orange hair; her identifiable feature as far as Arlong and his crew are concerned. She hopes someone decides to look at her hair first and uniform second, lest any more complications hinder her.
Upon emerging from the alleyway, heart pounding in remembering several slasher films where the victim is yanked back into the darkness with a flash of pale hands and blades; Nami shakes off the shadow's grip and immerses herself fully in the more spacious street.
There is light, which is more than she expects. Streetlights line the road and surprisingly, few are broken, their subdued beams illuminating the graffiti designs on their post. Some structures also receive light and look significantly more unintimidating than their dark counterparts. Around her, figures meander solo or, the saner and safer ones, in groups of two to five. Most commonly, Nami sees dark clothes, ripped material, piercings, tattoos; all the mainstream things associated with these areas, but sometimes she sees white-collar persons and young, innocent children.
It is to one of the latter she asks, "Do you know where Arlong is?"
The child holds a stuffed toy, clutching it to her chest. Silently, she points with her empty hand down the street, towards what looks like a large empty space next to the towering buildings on either side.
"Thank you," she says. The girl almost smiles at her, but suddenly her eyes are frozen in fear. Nami feels a shadow fall over her.
"Whatsa a pretty girl like y' doin' out so late?" a drunken slur inquires. A hard grip crushes her upper arm, making Nami cry out. Quickly, she gently shoves the other girl, urging her away. Go. Quick. Luckily, the girl does; turning and running away, her dark hair flying behind her. Selfish, but... selfish is what keeps one safe here.
"Hey, let's go, huh?" the drunk continues, twisting her around to face him, "I always want'd fuck a police chick."
"Get off, you creep!" Nami yells, kicking out with one leg. Her other hand fumbles for the gun but it's on the wrong side. The man's hard grip prevents her twisting to secure a grip on the handle to pull it out. Around them, others stop and observe the situation, some merely moving on without care.
"Fucking bitch," growls the man, his grip becoming near crushing now as his face contorts with momentary pain. His other arm swings back, hand forming a fist.
Nami grits her teeth against the pain and fear and claws for her gun. Her fingers find it, wrap themselves around its handle and yank it out. The man's punch veers slightly off course but it has force behind it. Nami pulls herself back at the last second but the hit clips her cheek, temporarily numbing her face and then setting it alight in pain. She screws up her face and pulls up the gun, "Back off! NOW!"
"Fucking—!" the man stumbles back, releasing the grip on her arm and topples backwards in the process, scrambling back on hands and knees. His eyes are wide and afraid on the gun as he turns and stumbles upright, taking off down the street.
Nami watches his retreating form for a moment longer before lowering the gun, feeling the adrenaline leave her body, leaving in its place the hollow emptiness of diluted fears, not just of the threat outside but within. The bystanders had appropriately exited the scene, quickly abandoning the girl alone; all except for one.
"He was getting impatient, Nami," he says.
"Not exactly my fault," she replies, turning to face another muscled, powerful form. Kuroobi. His hair is still strictly pulled back in a severe ponytail, making the veins on his face stand out. She can't even tell where his form begins and ends against the backdrop of the dark street for he is clothed in inky dark clothes. He refuses to step into the light.
"Are you affiliated with the police now?" he asks, the words weighed down with lead. Even from here, his eyes narrow in the threateningly sharp blades winking at Nami from the dark; like the lines of barbed wire poised to entrap and slice her open with the wrong answer.
"It's a set-up. You know that," Nami can't help but drop her eyes from his intense stare. In fear of implying dishonesty, she quickly merges the action with a furtive glance over her shoulder, "Though not for long if we're still out here. I came here with a police officer."
"What did you say?" Kuroobi is on her in an instant, gripping her arm (her good arm on purpose she is sure) in such strength that transcends the drunk's by a hundredfold. Nami can almost feel their bones crushing each other through measly layers of skin. She cries out, "I had no choice!"
Kuroobi only growls in response, half pulling, half dragging the girl up the street and into the shadows once more.
At some point when Nami was fourteen, perhaps fifteen, Nojiko counted days. Their foster home at the time, when Nojiko was seventeen in her final year of high school, was one of the most miserable times of Nami's life and the most miserable year of Nojiko's life. At least Nami thought so.
High school senior year was expensive, busy and stressful… no one had coped well and the pressure on Nojiko was enormous. Nami could see it in the way her sister had smiled, laughed and held herself so gracefully with all the composure of someone who had something to hide. No one who had no worries could have accomplished it.
In their shared room at night, when Nojiko thought Nami was asleep, she would unearth a simple desk calendar, cross out another day, put it back in its hideout and repeat the process the next night. When a month passed, she would tear off the page and start counting once more, until she turned eighteen. When that day came, Nami remembered feeling confused as Nojiko ran across the parking lot, threw both of their bags like stolen loot into the backseat of her car and swung into the driver's side with the first genuine grin Nami had seen in a long time.
"Let's GO!" Nojiko yelled, laughing.
Since then, Nami had never wanted to see anything but that expression permanently engraved into her mind of her sister. She knew it was an unrealistic dream, and she was right. But there were some, some instances where Nami could keep that precious smile on Nojiko's face, and she would. So, a year ago, Nami had opened a separate bank account and slowly, slowly, she took care of it and watched it grow.
Grow; keep growing, Nami wishes to herself as she pulls on her glove and punches in the line of numbers into the ATM. She extracts the correct amount and, with every eye in the room on the money in her hands, offers the whole lot to Arlong.
"The police must pay well," Arlong smirks, his large hand grasping all of the notes that had to be held by two of her own, "Or Nojiko's picked up another job."
Nami stays silent.
"Come on now, Nami, surely you haven't lost your wit."
Silence.
Arlong cocks one eyebrow but then only scoffs, "Very well, Nami; play your game." He shoves the money aside, carelessly letting the notes fly in a whirlwind; the precious notes Nami would do anything to hold again. How dare he, how dare he… She bit her lip against the anger rising like a wave inside her, watching the money fall to the ground. Arlong smirks, clearly aware of her anguish.
"Well," he concludes, sitting back comfortably in his seat within the shadows, "it's nice doing business again, Nami. Your police pet must be looking for you by now. We'd better let you go… but, wait. What story do you plan on giving him for your escapade? For being seen with Kuroobi there who, of course, must escort you back safely. Dangerous streets, you know." His grin grows wider, glinting like a crescent moon in the dark, "What will be your story, Nami?"
"The police officer is a 'her'," Nami says coldly. She savours the small moment before she allows herself to be cornered again, "I can only have one explanation." One that you'll back up anyway.
"And that is?"
"'I was attacked by a thug; I, I didn't know what to— I—'" Nami alters her voice to break and quiver as she recites her story she would repeat. The effort almost brings tears to her eyes if she hadn't already forced herself to cry by refraining from blinking. Her throat constricts and she gulps and gasps, only allowing short, shaky breaths escape her lips.
"You always were a very good con artist," Arlong says approvingly, watching her pitiful display. Nami bites her lip hard between her teeth, not at all for the benefit of her acting. Arlong. Arlong, she growls the name in her mind, wanting nothing more for it, him, to disappear and burn, burn, burn. Her anger temporarily overrides her fear and she clenches her fists to halt the surge of hatred that threatens to break her acting. Just entertain him a little longer… just a little longer…
"… But we'd better complete the effect of a thug attack… shouldn't we, Kuroobi?" his voice cuts like knives in her thoughts and they shatter… replaced by an ominous sense of dread and thoughts of fear replacing the ones of anger.
The presence of Kuroobi approaching her from behind feels like blood staining the remnants. She no longer has to act. She screams.
His name, his voice, his laugh, his threats and his words echoes all around her in the shadows. Calling their names, hunting them, finding them, and controlling them… for so long; so, so long…
Just leave us alone! She wants to scream but her throat is constricted and all that escapes it is a low, guttural whimper as she flees once more, urging her sister in front of her.
They run, run, run until their hair grows longer and billows around their face, as if that will hide them, their legs longer and leaner and their stride longer and farther than ever… yet never enough to escape him.
The world comes into focus in a series of blurs and sound. The hum of faraway traffic and some whirring of unidentifiable origin attack Nami's throbbing headache with a vengeance. She groans into her pillow and attempts to rise. As she does so, a sharp pain stabs her temple. She winces and automatically raises an arm to the source, only to suffer the soreness of her forearm as it flexes. She also hits the underside of the shelf… again. Only this time, the books atop it grumble with the disruption but thankfully, none fall off.
What… she holds still in an attempt to cut off any further pain and stares blankly at the flaking, far green wall. The light cheerily fills the room, illuminating everything in soft, morning glow.
Morning. Pirate Academy.
When Nami, spurred by a shot of adrenaline and fear (for the image of Hancock nailing her to the desk unhelpfully resurfaced), barrels out of the hallway with her blazer thrown over her shoulders, she registers one of two things.
The other of the two things is her sister who drops her half-eaten toast in surprise right into her coffee mug. The thing Nami registers is the police officer sitting at her kitchen table.
"Nami?" Tashigi rises, abandoning her own food and smoothly cutting off her path of escape to the door, "I understand you must be late but—"
"Nami, for God's sake," Nojiko doesn't rise after glaring at her submerged toast but does lean back enough in her chair to make eye contact. When she does, her gaze softens, "Officer Tashigi is here. She wants to ask some questions—"
"About last night," Tashigi cuts in, seeming impatient to cut to the point, "It's crucial we get some details while you might remember them."
"Last, night?" Nami utters the two words with caution. Last night? I was working, and—
Arlong.
Nami lets her bangle fall to her wrist, loops her fingers around it and squeezes, hard, "Last night. I remember. What do you need to know?"
They both end up sitting at the table and Nojiko does not budge despite needing to go to work herself. Nami finally convinces her to go and then it's just the bluffing con artist and the police officer at the table.
"My teachers have low tolerance for tardiness. You'll understand if I hope this doesn't take too long."
"A police investigation should be enough to excuse you from any consequences," Tashigi replies. She acts in a professional, business-like manner as she clicks her pen, "Normally, you'd be at the station, but in this case I'm willing to make an exception for your memory's longevity and your condition." Here she looks up, "Your sister insisted no hospital treatment."
"Yes." Arlong wanted no records against him; he always made sure to do just the right amount of damage and just so that it would not be unexplainable to people who notice. Nami already rehearsed her speech (temple bruise – the shelf, leg bruise – table, shoulder and arm – door jamb…) thoroughly enough as she dressed.
"You're lucky. It wasn't a bad attack, statistically. You feel nothing is broken or sprained or in particular pain?"
"No."
"Then let's start talking about your attack. Please keep in mind any detail is helpful in the investigation, so don't hold back." Tashigi's gaze focusses in practiced concentration as she prepares to take notes, "What did your attacker look like?"
In the middle of second period, Nami is still pushed in running laps around the oval by Mihawk who appears either oblivious or, the more likely, apathetic towards her admission of just being involved in a police interrogation and the bruises which now seem starkly in contrast with her white PE uniform. He simply orders, "Twenty, no less" while glaring at a particular pair of stragglers.
It feels like agony to run, but also comforting in a way. Nami is aware of the end, of the goal she has to reach before it's over and she spurs herself to get there. Soon, the rhythm of the ground echoing beneath her feet becomes a soothing melody that she forces herself not to break by keeping the same, steady pace. Running becomes a lot more leisurely when the runner becomes the hunter and not the prey, she notes idly.
In the middle of a similar thought, a sudden impact knocks her shoulder, sending her stumbling a few paces before resuming her steady run again. A laugh beside her sounds both familiar and scary; perhaps familiar because it is scary or scary because it is familiar. Nami can't decide which. Her shoulder now hurts like a bitch though and she glares at the causer, "And a good morning to you too."
"I thought you were sick or something so that's a relief," Luffy says. She imagines he is smiling cheerily though she is now studiously avoiding eye contact after the initial glare (he is really impossible to glare at for long).
"Do you have work after school again today?" he continues, "'Cause I was thinking you could come and meet the rest of my friends. They're all interested in meeting you – Brook might ask you some weird questions but that's normal and Franky's a pretty funny guy; he always goes like this—" at that Luffy jerks his body to the side and snaps both his arms together along their length, "And he yells, 'SUPER!'" He bursts into a fit of laughter as he follows her around the goal post, easily keeping up to her exceptional agility and the conversation simultaneously.
"What lap are you on?" Nami asks, her speech a little more laboured than his.
"Hm? I don't know," Luffy replies, "I just run until I'm tired or hungry. Zoro…" he looks around the oval and spots the green-haired boy a little distance ahead, "ZORO! What lap are you on?"
"Fifty three!" came the reply.
"I started running when he did. Maybe around that number?" Luffy cocks his head to the side, pondering.
"FIFTY? We only had to do twenty!" Nami exclaims.
"Yeah, but Hawky over there is Zoro's… teacher, I guess? I think he's kind of like a dad too; Zoro sleeps at his house sometimes with the ghost lady."
"Do you have nicknames for everyone?" Nami asks, frowning as she attempts to listen over her heartbeat thumping in her ears.
"Some people," Luffy says, "But my crew are different – me, Zoro, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Robin, Franky and Brook are just their names for me."
"You don't have a nickname for me."
"'Cause nothing fits," Luffy complains, "No matter how I look at it, it's just Nami. Like how Ace is Ace and Shanks is Shanks. Hey, have I ever told you about Shanks?"
"Nope," she's definitely panting now, yet she refuses to call quits before this boy starts at least looking like he's trying. As it is, he's effortlessly jogging, but Nami notes his form never falters, his breath never breaks and although he does not seem to physically show it, a light sheen of sweat covers his forehead.
"… and he gave me this hat years ago. When I graduate and go see him in the New World, I'll return it to him."
"What's the point of that?" Nami asks, remembering to inhale and rushes her next words, "If he gives it to you and you just give it back?"
Luffy's face returns into a content expression, "'Cause it'll show I've become a great Pirate. Shanks is a Pirate, too, you know. He's got a statue next to Ace's old man in school. He's a really, really good one, but I'll surpass him and become King of the Pirates."
Nami abruptly stops. The motion is so fast; she feels her legs lurch forward automatically to catch her stumble. Luffy runs right past her and has to backtrack, "Hey, Nami—"
"I'm done, I've done twenty," Nami exhales and stretches, her chest rising and falling steadily. She takes a shallower breath next and exhales shortly, increasing the tempo of her chest forcefully, "Besides, I'm exhausted." Her voice, she notes in a satisfied manner, is perfect (yet why is this boy still looking at her so strangely?). Finally, Luffy shrugs and continues running, "Hey, Zoro!"
"King of the Pirates"
Nami's breathing returns to normal as soon as the boy turns and runs. She reaches up behind her head and pulls on her ponytail, tightening it (wincing as her arm throbs dully) and turns and walks back to the shady area where the other students rest.
"You could have gone for longer," Mihawk remarks. His critical, unnervingly golden eye (contacts, she'd firmly told herself) watches her for a second longer and then resumes looking upon the few runners still continuing around the oval, "I expected more."
"You said twenty, right?" she replies as she takes a plastic water bottle from the collection beside him.
"At least. Keep that in mind next time."
"Sure."
Nami takes another drink as she walks over to where Usopp and Chopper lay in the grass; one facedown and the other stretched on his back respectively, "Hey."
"Hey, Nami," Chopper smiles, still rather shyly but he doesn't move away when she sits cross-legged opposite him. The other boy mumbles into the grass and Chopper adds, "Usopp says 'hey' too." He pulls himself up into a sitting position and pushes damp locks of hair off his forehead, "It's so hot… Usopp and I ran for a while with Luffy and Zoro but seriously…" he exhales heavily, blowing upwards so his hair flies for a second before flopping back down, "They're not human."
"Are they always like that?" Nami asks, watching the two figures running together. Luffy actually appears more focussed around Zoro and they silently compete, yet neither seem to really give it their all.
"Sanji used to be worse," Usopp rolls onto his side and uses his arm as a pillow, "Way worse than Luffy and Zoro together. Ah, Sanji is a couple years older than us; he's a chef at—"
"Baratie's?" Nami remembers.
"Yeah. Did Luffy tell you that? Anyway, Zoro and Sanji used to be the absolute worst. They fought all the time and over the stupidest things. The collateral damage!" he dramatically mock cries and Chopper laughs. Even Nami has to stifle a laugh and quickly takes a sip of her drink.
"Luffy and Zoro are a lot more civil," Chopper agrees, "But occasionally…" and here his expression turns serious, almost solemn, "Occasionally there are times…"
"Yes, when they both argue…" Usopp continues conspiratorially, "When Luffy and Zoro really, really get mad…"
"What?" Nami, despite herself, leans in, intrigued.
"What are you guys talking about?" Luffy is suddenly there, crouching beside her close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Zoro also stands on Usopp and Chopper's side, drinking from his own flask.
"GAH!" she leaps back, her face reddening from being caught in the act and she winces when her hands catch her fall. She also knocks over her water bottle and soaks the grass with its contents, "Ah, shit… Luffy! Stop doing that!" she complains.
"Are you all right? Sorry 'bout that," Luffy shuffles over to her in his crouching position and lifts up her bottle, "Wow, it's all gone. Hey, I'll buy you another one at lunch, OK?"
"No, don't worry abou—" she starts to say automatically.
"A little warning'd be nice!" Usopp yells.
"Yeah, it'd be nice!" Chopper joins in.
"Well, I heard my name!" Luffy turns his head and yells, "It's not my fault if you can't hear!" He re-enters the fray and begins squabbling with Usopp and Chopper, which eventually turns to childish insults.
Nami sighs and looks mournfully at the empty bottle, feeling her parched throat flare up with a vengeance. She'd have to find a tap later or something. She wouldn't enter that cafeteria of a) limited space, b) close proximity with crowds of Pirates and c) food that cost money if she could help it. In the meantime, however…
"Can I have a sip?" she asks Zoro, dodging the tackle-fight ("Goddamn it, Luffy!" "Long-Nose!" "HEY!").
"There's a tap around that building," he says by way of answer.
"As if Mihawk would let me." She offers a hand.
"I won't poison it, promise." She cocks an eyebrow as if to say how about it?
She waits patiently while Zoro takes a long drink and when he lowers the bottle, he nearly glares at her, "Can't you take a hint?" he snaps.
Nami flinches back quicker than the slight tense of the muscle lining the boy's arm. Her sharp inhale… almost becomes a gasp. Those eyes. She sees him move forward and automatically stumbles back further accordingly, pulling herself out of range of his arm. He wouldn't dare, not in public…!
She'd had the same thought a few years ago too, with someone else. She had been wrong.
He is fast. Quickly, Nami figures out she can't escape and tenses, anticipating the hit.
She feels his hand close firmly, but not crushingly, on her shoulder, pulling her in slightly, righting her. Then he let her go.
He thought she was going to fall. She had been about to when she flinched away.
Zoro's expression falters at her reaction. Confusion and wariness fill his eye, "Oi… What are you…?"
His eye narrows but in a concentrated manner, as if in thought.
"I get it," she says quickly, "I shouldn't have pushed, my bad; but you don't have to be so snappy about it. I'll go. Make up an excuse for me if Mihawk asks." She strides purposefully to her water bottle and snatches it up, almost forgetting to get the lid as well, before speed-walking to the tap Zoro pointed out earlier.
At the tap, instead of filling up the bottle, Nami cups her hands and splashes her face with the water. The sharp iciness highlights her flushed face. She rakes a hand through her hair and sighs in frustration. She is acting so stupid, why is she messing up so many times and being so goddamned paranoid? Pirates feed off weaknesses, Nami, and you're giving it to them! At least she now knows where she stands with Zoro.
He'd probably kill me if given the incentive, she thinks wearily. She'd better get back in his good pages sooner rather than later. Before that, she'd have to get Tashigi to drop the whole thug investigation and Ain to get off Arlong's tail. Then she probably had to pick up extra shifts at work or find another job to create any excuse for avoiding Luffy's invitation… including today. In truth, Tashigi had excused her for today, instead urging her to get a medical examination (to no avail) and eventually to "just take it easy for now".
East Blue life is so complicated… but like everything else, Nami only has to deal with it and move on.
The lunch bell rings like a starting gun to a race. Nami bolts…
… And is stopped when Luffy gets to the door first (for Christ' sake, how does he move so fast?) as if by teleportation.
"Do you wanna have lunch with us?" he asks cheerily, "And I can buy that bottle of water for you."
"I already said it's fine," Nami replies, "Excuse me." She sidesteps around him and gets halfway out of the door into the stream of students.
"You like beef flavoured ramen too, that's awesome!" he calls.
She hesitates, and her bag knocks against her waist. The cylindrical shape of her thermos presses against the curve of her hip. Slowly, she twists her head around, keeping a very, very sceptical look on her face, "There's no way you can smell that."
"You had chicken noodle soup yesterday."
"Oh, my— Are you a stalker?" she whisper-hisses, taking him by the collar and dragging him to one side of the door (to a couple of whistles from some obnoxious idiot which made her hastily release him), "How the hell do you even know about that?"
"I can smell it."
"Really?" she says sarcastically.
"Yeah," he nods, completely serious, "Just with food though. It's kinda cool, like a superpower. If we go to the cafeteria, I'll tell you everything they're selling." His grin beckons her cheekily and an inquisitive look flashes in his eye, "Let's bet on it."
A bet? Nami cocks her head, the action rustling some of her orange hair resting on her right shoulder. She hitches the bag strap higher with one hand and replies, neutrally, "What stakes?"
"What do you want?"
Leave me alone.
"Money," she says, "Five bucks per food item you miss."
"Deal," he immediately grins, "But if I get them all, you have to come and meet my friends."
Briefly, Nami did wonder if it was worth betting increased association with more Pirates for a few money notes.
She thought of watching Nojiko, every night, dig out a calendar and cross off one more day, just one more day... to the day she turned eighteen and they drove far, far away from that foster home with the biggest grins on their faces, singing to songs they never heard.
Yes, yes, it was.
"Deal."