Two more...
Title: Betting on the New Age
Theme: #9 determination
Claim: Shanks
(Words:) 1417
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer(s): I don't own One Piece, sadly. :(
“Isn’t that Red Hair, the Yonko?” Whispers abounded in the enclosed space of the floating restaurant, customers and staff sneaking cautious glances at him.
“What’s a pirate as notorious as him doing in East Blue?” Patty wondered aloud to Carne, the two of them unabashedly sticking their heads out of the kitchen door to stare at the unexpected customer.
The red-haired young man lounged in his chair, completely unconcerned about the attention he was attracting. One of the chefs propelled the new waiter (poor man) in the direction of that table. The waiter squeaked and approached the pirates with quaking legs.
“Get back to the kitchen, you idiots!” The bark came one second before a wooden peg leg slammed into the back of their heads in quick succession.
“Head chef!”
“What are you waiting for, go!”
There was a general scramble to get back to their posts in the kitchen. Zeff took a glance at the shaking waiter and rolled his eyes. “You.” The waiter must have jumped a foot in the air. “Go wait on the other tables. I’ve got this settled.”
The man couldn’t have gone away faster.
Peg leg clicking against the hard floor, Zeff walked towards the table occupied by the Red Hair Pirates with an imposing frown. He stopped next to Shanks, who was grinning cheekily up at him. He smirked.
“Well, if it isn’t the red-haired brat.”
Shanks laughed, not in the least concerned by the less-than-polite greeting. “So it really is you, old man! I heard rumors of a floating restaurant owned by a chef with a fancy mustache and came. I like your new style, by the way.” Shanks winked. “Braided. Very fashionable.”
“Impudent brat.” Zeff rolled his eyes. He had met Shanks many years ago, having encountered the Pirate King’s crew during his one-year journey in Grand Line. He may be a Yonko now, but was still a brat in his eyes.
Zeff’s eyes landed on the empty sleeve where Shanks’ left arm should have been. “I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you as well, Shanks. But news of a one-armed Yonko is not one of them.”
Shanks’ smile was wistful and a little pained. “So you noticed, huh? I don’t anyone else here has, though.”
“They will when you start eating. I daresay you don’t want some ignorant civilians to be the first to find out. Come, we’ll talk in a more private place.”
The chef started away, his wooden leg clicking. Shanks rose to follow him. His eyes took in the peg leg.
“What’s your story, Red Leg?”
“I daresay it’s not too different from yours.”
Shanks had guessed as much. “A child?”
Zeff’s mouth curved into a smirk, but he didn’t reply. They approached the door leading to the kitchen. Zeff pushed it open. “Eggplant!” he hollered.
“I have a name, shitty geezer!” a young boy’s voice yelled back.
Zeff ignored the retort. “One serving of today’s special! I’ve already prepared everything, just dish it out and send it to the back room.
“I’m not a waiter, geezer!”
“I’m telling you to do something, so just do it, brat!”
Zeff gestured for Shanks to follow into towards the back of the restaurant, away from the main dining area. He chuckled as he met Shanks’ eyes again. “A child,” he affirmed.
In the small private dining room at the back, Zeff fetched a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. He raised his with a heartfelt toast.
“To the sea, and betting on the New Age! May we never regret it!”
--------------------------
“You lost an arm. To a sea king.”
Shanks chuckled a little nervously at the chilly statement. “Come on, Hawk-Eyes! Your reaction is even scarier than Master Rayleigh’s.” He didn’t quite dare to tell his friend and rival that it technically hadn’t even been a sea king.
“Why? What could be worth sacrificing yourself for?”
“A boy, Hawk-Eyes. A boy with courage and dreams bigger than himself, maybe even bigger than this world. And I would do it again, if there was ever there’s the need.”
“You don’t regret it?” Mihawk’s tone was incredulous.
“Not at all.” Shanks was resolute.
The swordsman sighed. “I really don’t understand you sometimes.”
“And for your sake, I hope that you will one day.”
“I doubt it.”
Shanks just smiled. “We’ll see.”
------------------------------------
Zeff watched the swordsman unsheathe Yoru and slice the youth across the chest. Blood spurted, but Zeff knew that Mihawk’s intention was not to kill, and thus the boy was not dead, despite the common belief.
He watched the dark-haired boy who jumped up to rage at the swordsman, recognizing the straw hat that had once been on a certain red-haired youth’s head.
His gaze then shifted to the shitty eggplant who he knew wished to join this strange crew but was held back by his idiotic guilt and pride.
Was it Fate? Perhaps.
---------------------------------------
The front door of the Baratie swung open. The waiter, in the middle of arranging the cutlery on the tables, looked up.
“I’m sorry, the restaurant isn’t open ye-” His words died in his throat. “You! You are-”
The clunk of a wooden leg drew the attention of both the waiter and the visitor. Zeff smirked beneath his braided mustache. “So you’ve come, Hawk-Eyes.”
--------------------------------------
“S-Sir! There have been reports that Red Hair Shanks has been sighted in Sambas Region of East Blue!”
The commanding officer of the Marine branch of East Blue looked pensive. “Put surveillance on Red Hair and his crew, but do not make any moves yet. We’re not equipped to deal with a pirate of his caliber. Report immediately if there is any suspicious activity.”
“Yes, sir!
-----------------------------------------
A most peculiar group sat at a table in a corner of the Baratie’s dining room, way before the opening time of the restaurant. The cooks and waiters couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at the trio every now and then in between their preparations for the day.
Zeff calmly sipped his coffee, ignoring the fact that his two companions were drawing no little attention from the staff. “Troublesome brats, always making us worry about them,” he started casually.
Shanks likewise took a drink from his cup and grinned. “But they’ll make us proud in the end, that’s for sure.
“The shitty eggplant?” Zeff snorted. Then he grinned as well. “Maybe.”
Shanks sneaked a look at the silent third member of their group. “Well, Hawk-eyes? You’re the only one who knows where his protégé is at the moment. Care to shed some light on the situation?”
Mihawk rolled his eyes. “If I know where that boy is, it’s not by choice, I can tell you that. That green-haired brat is ruining my relaxation time.”
Shanks just looked at him with a knowing smile. He knew that the swordsman cared a lot more about his apprentice and challenger than he would ever let on. Mihawk, seeing the red-head’s expression, scowled.
“Apparently their plan is to train separately for two years before reuniting,” Mihawk finally relented.
“Hmm… That would make the date for their regrouping… about half a year from now?” Shanks said after thinking a bit.
“Yes, I believe that is correct.”
Silence settled, a comfortable one, as they thought of the young crew who had grown so much.
“Will the boy be able to surpass you, Hawk-Eyes?” Shanks voiced out the question that was on all of their minds. Shanks and Zeff believed in the young man, but the ultimate question was whether Mihawk did, being the one who knew him the best out of the three of them.
Mihawk was silent, staring into his wineglass. “Right now? No. But in the future…” he smirked, taking a sip of red wine. “Perhaps.”
--------------------------------------------------
In the New World, a red-haired man laughed in delight at the article his first mate had passed him, and yelled out to the approving crew that they were having a celebratory party.
In East Blue, a blond man sat on the deck of his pride and joy, reading about his other pride and joy in the newspaper, smirking smugly.
In Paradise, a dark-haired man read the news with his usual expressionless face, while a pink-haired girl reported (and complained) about the happenings at Sabaody. But an observant onlooker would be able to detect the slight hint of pride in his eyes, and indeed the pink-haired girl left the room soon after, a knowing smile on her lips.
“Go forward!” they all thought, “You can reach the top! We are waiting.”
Title: The Walking Dead
Theme: #30 skeleton
Claim: Shanks
(Words:) 1500
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer(s): Between before and now, I haven't made any progress.
The two Roger Pirate apprentices were up to no good. That was the only explanation to the fact that they were creeping through the hallways in the middle of the night without any form of light to guide their way.
Feeling along the walls and counting the doors, Buggy found the door to the kitchen and ducked in quietly. Shanks followed with equal stealth. Phase one of the mission: complete.
Now to execute Phase 2. Which involved copious amounts of flour for some (sinister) reason.
Strange, the set-up of the room seemed different from what he remembered the galley was like. But it was too dark to tell for sure. Perhaps he was just not in the section that he thought he was. Rather disorientated, Shanks felt along the walls until his hands encountered some cabinet of sorts.
Scuffling from the opposite side of the room indicated that Buggy was similarly having difficulties with his part of the task. Thankfully his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness of the room, allowing him to see basic silhouettes.
“KYAAAA!!!”
“What’s with that girlish scream? Shut it, you’re going to get us caught.” the red-haired boy tossed over his shoulder without looking at the other boy. Better grab the stuff they needed and hightail it out of there before someone came to investigate the noise. Damn that Buggy. After a while, he realized that the red-nose had strangely given no reply. Confused, he turned. “Buggy?”
Shanks was met with the very picture of Death.
Empty eye sockets on a skeletally thin face that was nothing but bones stared back at him evilly. The red-haired boy froze, hardly daring to breathe. How had such a monster gotten on board the Oro Jackson undetected!?
It took a long moment before he finally realized one important thing - they must have accidentally wandered into Crocus-san’s infirmary, and that the ‘monster’ was nothing more than the doctor’s plastic model skeleton.
“Hahahaha, you fell for it!” he couldn’t see the other boy, but the mirth in Buggy’s voice was unmistakable.
Shanks huffed, rather embarrassed. “You were the one who screamed like a girl, Buggy.”
This time it was Buggy’s turn to splutter. “I-Idiot! I was flashily pretending, of course!”
“Uh-huh.” Shanks didn’t believe him for a second.
“You wanna fight, flashy red-head?”
Shanks ignored him, “Well anyway, we’re in the wrong room. Whose fault is that, eh? You obviously didn’t count the doors right. Now we’re in Crocus-san’s inf…” His voice trailed off. After a short while, Shanks’ face broke into a devilish grin that looked absolutely sinister in the limited lighting of the room. “Hey, Buggy, I have a new plan.”
“Why do I have to go with your plan, you flashy idiot? What about my masterpiece?”
“Your plan failed from the moment you led us to the wrong room. Anyway, my plan is better. Just do it, Buggy.”
“Don’t wanna,” was the miffed reply.
“You leave me with no choice.” Shanks ominously unsheathed a sword.
“Oi, no need to take such flashy measures! Fine, I’ll do it!”
Shanks grinned victoriously. “Now listen here. Detach your hand and put it here. Can you float it up properly? Good, now this is the plan…”
--------------------------------------------------
Their first victim was a poor unsuspecting crew member known as Peters.
Peters had been assigned the night watch along with Gaban on this fateful night. Gaban had taken to the crows-nest, leaving Peters to the deck. He yawned. The moon was half waned, the light provided by it mediocre at best, and the clouds did not help with visibility. But they did not expect to be attack in this largely deserted region, so it wasn’t that bad. At least the low visibility would be a problem for any would-be enemies too.
Night watch was always boring. At least during the day one could be entertained by the antics of either their captain or the two cabin boys or all three. At night, there was no companion besides a skeleton standing in the middle of the deck…
Wait what was that!?
The moon retreated temporarily behind the clouds again, throwing the area into darkness. Peters squinted where he had seen the strange apparition.
The clouds shifted, gradually casting a glow over the deck. Which revealed a pair of empty eye sockets just a few inches from his face.
“GAAAHHHH!”
Hidden in the shadow of the cabins, two boys rolled on the floor, giggling silently with tears in their eyes. Recovering slightly, they sent each other victorious thumbs-ups.
----------------------------------------
Victim number two was the cook.
Old man Steele was a man that adhered to a very organized daily schedule. At 6 am, he woke, to spend half an hour getting ready for the day. Refreshed from his early morning routine, he would then head to the kitchen at 6.30 am to prepare breakfast for the ever-hungry crew. It was a time where the sun was just rising and would cast a faint glow in the galley.
Steele hummed as he headed for the galley that day. He had traded some recipes with Red Leg Zeff when they had by chance encountered the Cooking George a couple of days ago and was eager to try them out. He was thinking of testing out the other cook’s pancake recipe, and a batch of walnut bread would go well with what he had planned for lunch.
There was already someone in his territory, sitting at the dining table. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, the presence of someone who had either awoken early or been on the night watch and was hoping for a pre-breakfast snack.
It was a skeleton.
Bemused, he stared at it for a short while before turning away to grab eggs from the pantry. Strange. Had Crocus misplaced his plastic model skeleton?
The sound of movement and noisy clattering made him turn with mild irritation. Interrupting his work like that…he was tempted to deny whoever had entered the early snacks he would have handed out.
There was no one in the room. Save the skeleton, of course. It was still sitting motionlessly at the table. Steele tilted his head to one side. Hadn’t it been in another chair before? Dismissing it as him not having paid much attention to it before, he turned back to the pancake batter.
After a while, the clattering started up again. He turned with a narrow-eyed glare. Again, the expected crew members were absent. Then he noticed something.
The skeleton was in a different place from before. There was no doubt about it this time. It now had it back to him, having switched to the opposite side of the table from where it had been. Steele stared at it, perplexed. Skeletons didn’t just move however they liked. Heck, skeletons did not move, period.
At least, that was what he thought, until its head turned sharply towards him at a completely unnatural angle, staring at him with expressionless eye-sockets.
“GAAAAHHHHH!”
-----------------------------------------
The pranks were going swimmingly. Buggy’s control over the skeleton was getting better and better, allowing them to pull more elaborate stunts.
Now they sat huddled together, plotting the doom of another unfortunate crew member.
“So who next? The captain?” Shanks mused.
“He’s more flashily likely to ask it to join the flashy crew.”
“…He would, wouldn’t he? Master Rayleigh is out too, he wouldn’t bat an eyelid.”
The two boys looked at each other, out of ideas.
“So who’s next?” a deep voice asked.
“I don’t know, don’t ask m- GAH, CAPTAIN!?”
Roger grinned, crouched behind the two boys. “I presume that the complaints I have been getting of a walking skeleton are thanks to you two troublemakers?”
The boys exchanged glances before turning to their captain with innocent expressions. “W-What skeleton?”
“No use pretending now, kids. I can see right through you.”
Two sighs. Busted. “Yeah…”
“You know what this means, right?” Roger said sternly. The boys looked apprehensive. Until Roger’s face broke into a huge mischievous grin that spelled doom for the rest of the crew. “I want in.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The doctor walked from the bunkroom to the infirmary, yawning lightly. There was a commotion going on above deck. Ignoring it, he entered the medical room. There weren’t any gunshots or the like, so it wasn’t likely to be an enemy attack. Anyway, someone would get him if he was needed.
His infirmary looked a little…messed up. It also looked rather emptier than usual, which was strange. His eyes swept through the room to identify what was missing. Ah. That.
The noise that sounded akin to screaming chickens was getting closer.
He opened the door just as a group of men dashed through the halls, looking as if the devil was on their heels. Crocus climbed the steps up to the deck. “Has anyone seen my model skeleton?” he asked, oblivious to the chaos (or perhaps it was better to say that he was so used to it that he paid it no mind). No one heard him.
Theme: #9 determination
Claim: Shanks
(Words:) 1417
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer(s): I don't own One Piece, sadly. :(
“Isn’t that Red Hair, the Yonko?” Whispers abounded in the enclosed space of the floating restaurant, customers and staff sneaking cautious glances at him.
“What’s a pirate as notorious as him doing in East Blue?” Patty wondered aloud to Carne, the two of them unabashedly sticking their heads out of the kitchen door to stare at the unexpected customer.
The red-haired young man lounged in his chair, completely unconcerned about the attention he was attracting. One of the chefs propelled the new waiter (poor man) in the direction of that table. The waiter squeaked and approached the pirates with quaking legs.
“Get back to the kitchen, you idiots!” The bark came one second before a wooden peg leg slammed into the back of their heads in quick succession.
“Head chef!”
“What are you waiting for, go!”
There was a general scramble to get back to their posts in the kitchen. Zeff took a glance at the shaking waiter and rolled his eyes. “You.” The waiter must have jumped a foot in the air. “Go wait on the other tables. I’ve got this settled.”
The man couldn’t have gone away faster.
Peg leg clicking against the hard floor, Zeff walked towards the table occupied by the Red Hair Pirates with an imposing frown. He stopped next to Shanks, who was grinning cheekily up at him. He smirked.
“Well, if it isn’t the red-haired brat.”
Shanks laughed, not in the least concerned by the less-than-polite greeting. “So it really is you, old man! I heard rumors of a floating restaurant owned by a chef with a fancy mustache and came. I like your new style, by the way.” Shanks winked. “Braided. Very fashionable.”
“Impudent brat.” Zeff rolled his eyes. He had met Shanks many years ago, having encountered the Pirate King’s crew during his one-year journey in Grand Line. He may be a Yonko now, but was still a brat in his eyes.
Zeff’s eyes landed on the empty sleeve where Shanks’ left arm should have been. “I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you as well, Shanks. But news of a one-armed Yonko is not one of them.”
Shanks’ smile was wistful and a little pained. “So you noticed, huh? I don’t anyone else here has, though.”
“They will when you start eating. I daresay you don’t want some ignorant civilians to be the first to find out. Come, we’ll talk in a more private place.”
The chef started away, his wooden leg clicking. Shanks rose to follow him. His eyes took in the peg leg.
“What’s your story, Red Leg?”
“I daresay it’s not too different from yours.”
Shanks had guessed as much. “A child?”
Zeff’s mouth curved into a smirk, but he didn’t reply. They approached the door leading to the kitchen. Zeff pushed it open. “Eggplant!” he hollered.
“I have a name, shitty geezer!” a young boy’s voice yelled back.
Zeff ignored the retort. “One serving of today’s special! I’ve already prepared everything, just dish it out and send it to the back room.
“I’m not a waiter, geezer!”
“I’m telling you to do something, so just do it, brat!”
Zeff gestured for Shanks to follow into towards the back of the restaurant, away from the main dining area. He chuckled as he met Shanks’ eyes again. “A child,” he affirmed.
In the small private dining room at the back, Zeff fetched a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. He raised his with a heartfelt toast.
“To the sea, and betting on the New Age! May we never regret it!”
--------------------------
“You lost an arm. To a sea king.”
Shanks chuckled a little nervously at the chilly statement. “Come on, Hawk-Eyes! Your reaction is even scarier than Master Rayleigh’s.” He didn’t quite dare to tell his friend and rival that it technically hadn’t even been a sea king.
“Why? What could be worth sacrificing yourself for?”
“A boy, Hawk-Eyes. A boy with courage and dreams bigger than himself, maybe even bigger than this world. And I would do it again, if there was ever there’s the need.”
“You don’t regret it?” Mihawk’s tone was incredulous.
“Not at all.” Shanks was resolute.
The swordsman sighed. “I really don’t understand you sometimes.”
“And for your sake, I hope that you will one day.”
“I doubt it.”
Shanks just smiled. “We’ll see.”
------------------------------------
Zeff watched the swordsman unsheathe Yoru and slice the youth across the chest. Blood spurted, but Zeff knew that Mihawk’s intention was not to kill, and thus the boy was not dead, despite the common belief.
He watched the dark-haired boy who jumped up to rage at the swordsman, recognizing the straw hat that had once been on a certain red-haired youth’s head.
His gaze then shifted to the shitty eggplant who he knew wished to join this strange crew but was held back by his idiotic guilt and pride.
Was it Fate? Perhaps.
---------------------------------------
The front door of the Baratie swung open. The waiter, in the middle of arranging the cutlery on the tables, looked up.
“I’m sorry, the restaurant isn’t open ye-” His words died in his throat. “You! You are-”
The clunk of a wooden leg drew the attention of both the waiter and the visitor. Zeff smirked beneath his braided mustache. “So you’ve come, Hawk-Eyes.”
--------------------------------------
“S-Sir! There have been reports that Red Hair Shanks has been sighted in Sambas Region of East Blue!”
The commanding officer of the Marine branch of East Blue looked pensive. “Put surveillance on Red Hair and his crew, but do not make any moves yet. We’re not equipped to deal with a pirate of his caliber. Report immediately if there is any suspicious activity.”
“Yes, sir!
-----------------------------------------
A most peculiar group sat at a table in a corner of the Baratie’s dining room, way before the opening time of the restaurant. The cooks and waiters couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at the trio every now and then in between their preparations for the day.
Zeff calmly sipped his coffee, ignoring the fact that his two companions were drawing no little attention from the staff. “Troublesome brats, always making us worry about them,” he started casually.
Shanks likewise took a drink from his cup and grinned. “But they’ll make us proud in the end, that’s for sure.
“The shitty eggplant?” Zeff snorted. Then he grinned as well. “Maybe.”
Shanks sneaked a look at the silent third member of their group. “Well, Hawk-eyes? You’re the only one who knows where his protégé is at the moment. Care to shed some light on the situation?”
Mihawk rolled his eyes. “If I know where that boy is, it’s not by choice, I can tell you that. That green-haired brat is ruining my relaxation time.”
Shanks just looked at him with a knowing smile. He knew that the swordsman cared a lot more about his apprentice and challenger than he would ever let on. Mihawk, seeing the red-head’s expression, scowled.
“Apparently their plan is to train separately for two years before reuniting,” Mihawk finally relented.
“Hmm… That would make the date for their regrouping… about half a year from now?” Shanks said after thinking a bit.
“Yes, I believe that is correct.”
Silence settled, a comfortable one, as they thought of the young crew who had grown so much.
“Will the boy be able to surpass you, Hawk-Eyes?” Shanks voiced out the question that was on all of their minds. Shanks and Zeff believed in the young man, but the ultimate question was whether Mihawk did, being the one who knew him the best out of the three of them.
Mihawk was silent, staring into his wineglass. “Right now? No. But in the future…” he smirked, taking a sip of red wine. “Perhaps.”
--------------------------------------------------
In the New World, a red-haired man laughed in delight at the article his first mate had passed him, and yelled out to the approving crew that they were having a celebratory party.
In East Blue, a blond man sat on the deck of his pride and joy, reading about his other pride and joy in the newspaper, smirking smugly.
In Paradise, a dark-haired man read the news with his usual expressionless face, while a pink-haired girl reported (and complained) about the happenings at Sabaody. But an observant onlooker would be able to detect the slight hint of pride in his eyes, and indeed the pink-haired girl left the room soon after, a knowing smile on her lips.
“Go forward!” they all thought, “You can reach the top! We are waiting.”
Title: The Walking Dead
Theme: #30 skeleton
Claim: Shanks
(Words:) 1500
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer(s): Between before and now, I haven't made any progress.
The two Roger Pirate apprentices were up to no good. That was the only explanation to the fact that they were creeping through the hallways in the middle of the night without any form of light to guide their way.
Feeling along the walls and counting the doors, Buggy found the door to the kitchen and ducked in quietly. Shanks followed with equal stealth. Phase one of the mission: complete.
Now to execute Phase 2. Which involved copious amounts of flour for some (sinister) reason.
Strange, the set-up of the room seemed different from what he remembered the galley was like. But it was too dark to tell for sure. Perhaps he was just not in the section that he thought he was. Rather disorientated, Shanks felt along the walls until his hands encountered some cabinet of sorts.
Scuffling from the opposite side of the room indicated that Buggy was similarly having difficulties with his part of the task. Thankfully his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness of the room, allowing him to see basic silhouettes.
“KYAAAA!!!”
“What’s with that girlish scream? Shut it, you’re going to get us caught.” the red-haired boy tossed over his shoulder without looking at the other boy. Better grab the stuff they needed and hightail it out of there before someone came to investigate the noise. Damn that Buggy. After a while, he realized that the red-nose had strangely given no reply. Confused, he turned. “Buggy?”
Shanks was met with the very picture of Death.
Empty eye sockets on a skeletally thin face that was nothing but bones stared back at him evilly. The red-haired boy froze, hardly daring to breathe. How had such a monster gotten on board the Oro Jackson undetected!?
It took a long moment before he finally realized one important thing - they must have accidentally wandered into Crocus-san’s infirmary, and that the ‘monster’ was nothing more than the doctor’s plastic model skeleton.
“Hahahaha, you fell for it!” he couldn’t see the other boy, but the mirth in Buggy’s voice was unmistakable.
Shanks huffed, rather embarrassed. “You were the one who screamed like a girl, Buggy.”
This time it was Buggy’s turn to splutter. “I-Idiot! I was flashily pretending, of course!”
“Uh-huh.” Shanks didn’t believe him for a second.
“You wanna fight, flashy red-head?”
Shanks ignored him, “Well anyway, we’re in the wrong room. Whose fault is that, eh? You obviously didn’t count the doors right. Now we’re in Crocus-san’s inf…” His voice trailed off. After a short while, Shanks’ face broke into a devilish grin that looked absolutely sinister in the limited lighting of the room. “Hey, Buggy, I have a new plan.”
“Why do I have to go with your plan, you flashy idiot? What about my masterpiece?”
“Your plan failed from the moment you led us to the wrong room. Anyway, my plan is better. Just do it, Buggy.”
“Don’t wanna,” was the miffed reply.
“You leave me with no choice.” Shanks ominously unsheathed a sword.
“Oi, no need to take such flashy measures! Fine, I’ll do it!”
Shanks grinned victoriously. “Now listen here. Detach your hand and put it here. Can you float it up properly? Good, now this is the plan…”
--------------------------------------------------
Their first victim was a poor unsuspecting crew member known as Peters.
Peters had been assigned the night watch along with Gaban on this fateful night. Gaban had taken to the crows-nest, leaving Peters to the deck. He yawned. The moon was half waned, the light provided by it mediocre at best, and the clouds did not help with visibility. But they did not expect to be attack in this largely deserted region, so it wasn’t that bad. At least the low visibility would be a problem for any would-be enemies too.
Night watch was always boring. At least during the day one could be entertained by the antics of either their captain or the two cabin boys or all three. At night, there was no companion besides a skeleton standing in the middle of the deck…
Wait what was that!?
The moon retreated temporarily behind the clouds again, throwing the area into darkness. Peters squinted where he had seen the strange apparition.
The clouds shifted, gradually casting a glow over the deck. Which revealed a pair of empty eye sockets just a few inches from his face.
“GAAAHHHH!”
Hidden in the shadow of the cabins, two boys rolled on the floor, giggling silently with tears in their eyes. Recovering slightly, they sent each other victorious thumbs-ups.
----------------------------------------
Victim number two was the cook.
Old man Steele was a man that adhered to a very organized daily schedule. At 6 am, he woke, to spend half an hour getting ready for the day. Refreshed from his early morning routine, he would then head to the kitchen at 6.30 am to prepare breakfast for the ever-hungry crew. It was a time where the sun was just rising and would cast a faint glow in the galley.
Steele hummed as he headed for the galley that day. He had traded some recipes with Red Leg Zeff when they had by chance encountered the Cooking George a couple of days ago and was eager to try them out. He was thinking of testing out the other cook’s pancake recipe, and a batch of walnut bread would go well with what he had planned for lunch.
There was already someone in his territory, sitting at the dining table. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, the presence of someone who had either awoken early or been on the night watch and was hoping for a pre-breakfast snack.
It was a skeleton.
Bemused, he stared at it for a short while before turning away to grab eggs from the pantry. Strange. Had Crocus misplaced his plastic model skeleton?
The sound of movement and noisy clattering made him turn with mild irritation. Interrupting his work like that…he was tempted to deny whoever had entered the early snacks he would have handed out.
There was no one in the room. Save the skeleton, of course. It was still sitting motionlessly at the table. Steele tilted his head to one side. Hadn’t it been in another chair before? Dismissing it as him not having paid much attention to it before, he turned back to the pancake batter.
After a while, the clattering started up again. He turned with a narrow-eyed glare. Again, the expected crew members were absent. Then he noticed something.
The skeleton was in a different place from before. There was no doubt about it this time. It now had it back to him, having switched to the opposite side of the table from where it had been. Steele stared at it, perplexed. Skeletons didn’t just move however they liked. Heck, skeletons did not move, period.
At least, that was what he thought, until its head turned sharply towards him at a completely unnatural angle, staring at him with expressionless eye-sockets.
“GAAAAHHHHH!”
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The pranks were going swimmingly. Buggy’s control over the skeleton was getting better and better, allowing them to pull more elaborate stunts.
Now they sat huddled together, plotting the doom of another unfortunate crew member.
“So who next? The captain?” Shanks mused.
“He’s more flashily likely to ask it to join the flashy crew.”
“…He would, wouldn’t he? Master Rayleigh is out too, he wouldn’t bat an eyelid.”
The two boys looked at each other, out of ideas.
“So who’s next?” a deep voice asked.
“I don’t know, don’t ask m- GAH, CAPTAIN!?”
Roger grinned, crouched behind the two boys. “I presume that the complaints I have been getting of a walking skeleton are thanks to you two troublemakers?”
The boys exchanged glances before turning to their captain with innocent expressions. “W-What skeleton?”
“No use pretending now, kids. I can see right through you.”
Two sighs. Busted. “Yeah…”
“You know what this means, right?” Roger said sternly. The boys looked apprehensive. Until Roger’s face broke into a huge mischievous grin that spelled doom for the rest of the crew. “I want in.”
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The doctor walked from the bunkroom to the infirmary, yawning lightly. There was a commotion going on above deck. Ignoring it, he entered the medical room. There weren’t any gunshots or the like, so it wasn’t likely to be an enemy attack. Anyway, someone would get him if he was needed.
His infirmary looked a little…messed up. It also looked rather emptier than usual, which was strange. His eyes swept through the room to identify what was missing. Ah. That.
The noise that sounded akin to screaming chickens was getting closer.
He opened the door just as a group of men dashed through the halls, looking as if the devil was on their heels. Crocus climbed the steps up to the deck. “Has anyone seen my model skeleton?” he asked, oblivious to the chaos (or perhaps it was better to say that he was so used to it that he paid it no mind). No one heard him.