Fic. Again. :|
Because, yes, I really needed to start another fic. >_< In my defense, this is a re-posting of a chapter I wrote on op_fanforall for the shichibukai!Ace challenge from thisistony, and I'm a fair bit into the second chapter right now. None of my other fics are abandoned, I swear!
Title: Know Your Enemy (Intimately)
Word Count: 2,402
Rating: PG-13 (?)
Pairing: Eventual SmoAce
Disclaimer/Warnings: AU. Tongue-in-cheek crackiness. My love of deliberately bad titles.
Summary: He was a sk8er boi Marine. He was a shichibukai. They fight crime!
Chapter 1
Tetsu was on watch, which means that Tetsu was the one who called it out. Marine ship, almost dead ahead, and so deep in shit that it was a wonder the crew hadn’t just shot themselves and saved the rapidly-gaining pirates the trouble.
The general call alerted Ace, who pushed his hat from over his eyes and rolled his shoulders with a small yawn. “Any idea who it is?” A flex of muscles, and he was on his feet, wide-awake and ambling to the bow to better see the few dots in the distance. There shouldn’t have been a Marine patrol around here, not for another day, and there was no island nearby that they could be based at. Which meant, of course, that these idiots must have pursued the pirates from somewhere else, and then discovered they’d bitten off more than they could chew.
Amateurs.
Shrugging, Tetsu dropped the telescope down from the crow’s nest for his captain to catch, and leaned back. “Beats me. No-one I recognise, and it ain’t anyone above Commodore rank.”
Ace gave a small sound of interest, ignoring the squabbling of the two apprentices (cute brats, stubborn as Luffy and regularly in firm need of a good beat-down) and lifted the ‘scope to see for himself.
It was a brig, good condition, reasonable quality. A practised eye could see the wounds of old battles that had been well-repaired - not some hot-shot new commander with his first ship then, which would have been his first guess. The crew - just visible aboard it, at this distance - were scurrying to their stations in a well-ordered way that spoke of good training.
Something was off about this.
“No markings on the sails,” he noted aloud, running his eyes across from stern to bow. “Commodore or below, then.” He paused for a moment longer, thoughts ticking over. More than a few of the crew on deck had paused, sensing the change in his demeanour, before the pirate changed his focus to the other ships.
Three of them, obviously working together by the similar paint-jobs and all flying the mark of the same pirate on their sails. Excellent condition, enough cannons to seriously ruin those Marines’ day, and maintaining their pursuit of the official ship with ease. Playing with them, if Ace didn’t miss his guess.
He grinned. Slapped the telescope to one of the crew who had come for a look himself, and spun around to make the announcement, face alight with restrained laughter. “All right, guys! We’re going to be good little Government-dogs and save those morons out there -” he shoved a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the Marines who were scrambling to ready their ship, “- and we’re going to find out exactly what kind of incompetent put himself in this mess.” Ace paused for a second, thinking this through, and then added the most important part. “And then I’m going to mock him.”
The last part was enough to make everyone cheer. They were, Ace mused as his Bermuda sloop picked up its already-impressive speed, an odd crew - although that would probably be the only type of person who’d want to serve under him, so it all worked out.
*
Captain Smoker did not like having to give up command of his ship, temporary though it might have been. He especially didn’t like having to give it up to some fucking retard of a Commodore at the local Marine base.
Other things on his list of Do Not Like (also known as the ‘Snarl and Glare If Mentioned’ list) included finding out that said retard’s even more retarded subordinate nearly got your ship destroyed, men killed, and - on top of that - had his ass pulled out of the fire by a shichibukai.
A pirate. And not even one with the decency to admit they were working for themselves, but one who ate from the Government’s hand and curled up under its protection. A worthless, scum-sucking, traitor-to-its-own-kind, piece of shit-stained trash, whose only good state would be wrapped up in seastone and with their head swiftly and violently removed.
Captain Smoker was not unduly fond of shichibukai.
Especially when he had to sit next to one.
Only pure self-control kept him from jumping out of his seat and punching the smug little idiot (fucking kid, looked barely out of his teens) in the face. Followed the mewling, simpering Captain on Firefist’s other side, and the scowling Commodore on the other side of the desk from the three of them.
“I’d like it to be known,” Smoker said, almost politely as he tried not to chew his cigars in half, “that if you hadn’t handed my ship over to this fucking moron,” (a jerk of his head towards the other Captain) “it would never have needed this punk,” (a smaller jerk to the closer man, who looked at him, obviously amused) “to save it.”
Commodore Perrin coughed, obviously having grown used to Smoker’s personality (problems) over the last week that he had been confined to the base. “Yes, well. As it is, Captain Marlin will be receiving disciplinary measures, and we should all be grateful that... that shichibukai Firefist was in the area.” A warning look in his eyes as he glanced at Smoker, as if to say ‘Please don’t insult the man who could probably have us all killed if we piss him off’. Smoker ignored it, naturally.
“The only disciplinary action Marlin needs is a dishonourable discharge and a court-martial for extreme stupidity.” A flicker of smoker tugged at his cigars and stubbed them firmly out in Perrin’s ashtray - it took effort not to use the desk. “As for that brat, what’s a shichibukai doing so close to Reverse Mountain, anyway.” A dark glare fixated on the warlord, who continued lounging in the chair and seemed to be enjoying the show. “Shits like you should head for the New World and get yourselves killed.”
Firefist actually grinned at that, arrogant bastard, while the other Marines proceeded to quietly hyperventilate. “Oi, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Been there, didn’t die, got the Biblicard to prove it.” He tilted his head, grin turning to an almost-innocent smile. “Can’t a guy rescue a few Marines without getting chewed out? Hell, if you were so damn worried, you shouldn’t have left your crew with a guy who only got promoted because his darling daddy’s a Rear Admiral.” A flicker of a smirk before the innocent look returned.
And really, he was right. Smoker owed his crew, his ship, Tashigi’s life to this... this pirate filth, because they’d had the sheer dumb luck to be where no shichibukai should be, and because (for sheer bloodlust? Out of boredom?) he’d decided to step in and save them.
It hurt just admitting it to himself, but he - damn. He owed the bastard.
‘Let’s not antagonise the nice shichibukai any further,’ said the Commodore’s desperate eyes, ‘because he might decide to kill us. That would be bad. And if I survived, I would blame you.’
Smoker slouched back, yanking a new cigar from a jacket loop, other hand dipping into his jacket for the lighter - a pointless move, because a spark flickered to sudden life, lighting the cigar for him, and he cast a look of seething fury at the pirate who had the audacity to be smirking at him.
Fucking brat.
*
“You should thank me, y’know,” said the brat, trotting cheerily at Smoker’s heels along the corridors of the base. A hapless chore boy spotted the fuming Captain and merry shichibukai, squeaked in terror, and flung himself into a side-corridor, almost dropping his paperwork.
Smoker ignored that, focused on the pirate, because that’s what he was, whatever the Government said. “Stop fucking following me.”
Behind him, Ace blinked wide, curious eyes, even though he knew the effect was lost on the Marine’s back. “But you’re heading for the exit, aren’t you? And I’m heading there too, so we can all go together.” Sweet Smile: Activated. “It’s very kind of you to show me the way out, Captain... I’d hate to take a wrong turn somewhere, and stumble over a classified file or ten.”
The Marine paused, forcing the pirate to stop. Grit his teeth. Stepped to the side, hands still jammed firmly in his pockets and shoulders hunched with obvious frustration. “You’re walking beside me.”
“Actually,” the shichibukai said politely, conversationally, “I’m standing here, and you’re standing there. There’s no walking invo-urgk!”
Pirate tugged sharply into place at Smoker’s side, the Marine slipped his smoke back in and continued striding towards the exit. Firefist just grinned wider, although at least he kept up, not wandering off to admire secret information and harass Marines.
“Anyway,” Firefist said loudly, which is when Smoker got the first hints that when the brat wanted to annoy you, he did. Not. Shut. Up. “Like I was saying, you should thank me. Seeing as I did save your crew, and all.” He looked pointedly at the Marine, who deigned not to notice.
“Maybe you could save my ear drums, now,” the Marine muttered, drawing a bubble of pleased laughter from the punk.
“You can make a joke! See, I knew it was in you somewhere!” He inched a little to the side, closer to the Marine, who fastened a wary look on Firefist from the corner of his eye. “You should still thank me, though. It’s rude not to.”
Smoker shrugged, forcing himself to be polite. He’d pay back the (small, tiny, barely-there) debt he owed by leaving the building without grabbing the boy by the neck and smashing his head against the wall a few times. It was a generous offer. “Since when the fuck do pirates care about social mores?”
A wide grin. “Generally, we don’t. But I thought you upright, uptight Marines were supposed to. Besides, it’s just common decency, Captain.”
“Rhetorical question, idiot.” Smoker gave a light snort, held open a door for the little brat to go through - no way was he letting Firefist behind him, saviour of his men or not. “Besides, I’m thanking you already. Just with actions instead of words.” At the curious glance from the pirate, he grinned rather more viciously than other man had, and explained. “I’m not killing you yet.”
Ace bit back a bark of startled laughter at the comment and slipped through the door, shaking his head as he paused for Smoker to catch up. “A little arrogant, aren’t you? You’re only a Captain, y’know.”
“That says nothing about my abilities.” A vague, idle answer, but true. Politics counted for much in the Marines after all, much as Smoker loathed the fact. “Besides, you’re - what? Twenty-one, -two?”
“Twenty,” Firefist corrected, a smirk twisting his lips and bringing scattered freckles into Smoker’s focus. “Just means I’m talented, old man.” A Logia for just over three years, shichibukai for more than a year and a half. He may have been young, but the Spade pirates had taken the Grand Line by storm and made their mark in the New World; even though Whitebeard had eventually forced them out, first time around. Besides, Portgas could wait a while before their third shot at the Emperor - they’d fared better the second time around, after all, and the young man had patience.
Smoker’s eyes narrowed as he neatly avoided a sticky puddle of spilt coffee on the tiled floor. “Twenty.” He was Tashigi’s age, and she was only a Chief Petty Officer, for all that she should be an Ensign. Pirates. No politics or time limits to hold them back.
“Twenty,” repeated the pirate, his casual gait somehow keeping up with Smoker’s long-legged march. “You?”
A confused, annoyed glance at this moron who refused to be easily fit in any other box than ‘lunatic’, and Smoker sped up slightly. “What do you care?”
Firefist grinned sloppily, his own pace increasing with ease. “I’m curious. You’re not like most Marines, y’know.”
“That’s probably a good thing.” Another wary glance at the pirate, but hell, it was hardly classified. “Thirty-four.”
“Oh?” Ace blinked lazy eyes up at him, innocence exuded from every pore. “I thought you were older, with that grey hair and all.”
Stop. Turn.
Glare.
“It’s. Green.”
Ace paused. Tilted his head slooowly to the side, eyes latched dubiously onto gravity-defying strands, before he nodded carefully, placating. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
The glare continued. “You’re either being a moron by accident, or on purpose. If it’s the latter, I just want you to know that you’re not succeeding at pissing me off.”
“Really?” A hint of smirk fluttered at the pirate’s expression as he stared up at the Marine. “Then why are you twitching?”
Smoker twitched. Again. Then he turned back and continued walking for the exit, because he’d (stupidly) already decided not to kill the brat, who pouted at the his retreating back and darted alongside, one hand reaching to catch at Smoker’s arm; the Marine slapped it away, and Firefist settled for a wounded expression, clutching at his hand like Smoker had just shoved a knife through it.
“You’re cruel, y’know that?”
Shrug. “And you’re an idiot.”
The pirate grinned, a real, wide one that took another year or two off his appearance. He looked like some civilian kid - a well-built civilian, and you’d have to ignore the piratical clothes (what clothing he did have) and the dagger at his waist, but that sheer life in his eyes... the only pirates who held that look were rookies, Smoker was sure, people who hadn’t yet struggled and dragged themselves through mud and blood and shit to reach one of the coveted positions of power. But this brat had eyes that looked like they were still excited by the first, fresh sight of the Grand Line; energy, vitality, fire, and right now, all directed at him.
“You’re unpredictable, too.” Ace’s grin widened, and he dropped the oh-so-injured hand to let his thumb curve around a belt-loop and rest there. “I like that.”
Smoker drew another cigar from his jacket then, three steps from the exit, and felt a strange pang of disappointment when he had to draw his lighter, the moron darting ahead to leave first in his rush to get to port, barely flicking his head around to quirk a teasing smile at the Marine, before he was outside and vanishing into a crowd.
Still. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if he’d see him again. And if he did, Firefist was still a pirate, shichibukai or not, and it was the White Hunter’s job to bring people like him down, no matter how bright their eyes burned.
Title: Know Your Enemy (Intimately)
Word Count: 2,402
Rating: PG-13 (?)
Pairing: Eventual SmoAce
Disclaimer/Warnings: AU. Tongue-in-cheek crackiness. My love of deliberately bad titles.
Summary: He was a sk8er boi Marine. He was a shichibukai. They fight crime!
Chapter 1
Tetsu was on watch, which means that Tetsu was the one who called it out. Marine ship, almost dead ahead, and so deep in shit that it was a wonder the crew hadn’t just shot themselves and saved the rapidly-gaining pirates the trouble.
The general call alerted Ace, who pushed his hat from over his eyes and rolled his shoulders with a small yawn. “Any idea who it is?” A flex of muscles, and he was on his feet, wide-awake and ambling to the bow to better see the few dots in the distance. There shouldn’t have been a Marine patrol around here, not for another day, and there was no island nearby that they could be based at. Which meant, of course, that these idiots must have pursued the pirates from somewhere else, and then discovered they’d bitten off more than they could chew.
Amateurs.
Shrugging, Tetsu dropped the telescope down from the crow’s nest for his captain to catch, and leaned back. “Beats me. No-one I recognise, and it ain’t anyone above Commodore rank.”
Ace gave a small sound of interest, ignoring the squabbling of the two apprentices (cute brats, stubborn as Luffy and regularly in firm need of a good beat-down) and lifted the ‘scope to see for himself.
It was a brig, good condition, reasonable quality. A practised eye could see the wounds of old battles that had been well-repaired - not some hot-shot new commander with his first ship then, which would have been his first guess. The crew - just visible aboard it, at this distance - were scurrying to their stations in a well-ordered way that spoke of good training.
Something was off about this.
“No markings on the sails,” he noted aloud, running his eyes across from stern to bow. “Commodore or below, then.” He paused for a moment longer, thoughts ticking over. More than a few of the crew on deck had paused, sensing the change in his demeanour, before the pirate changed his focus to the other ships.
Three of them, obviously working together by the similar paint-jobs and all flying the mark of the same pirate on their sails. Excellent condition, enough cannons to seriously ruin those Marines’ day, and maintaining their pursuit of the official ship with ease. Playing with them, if Ace didn’t miss his guess.
He grinned. Slapped the telescope to one of the crew who had come for a look himself, and spun around to make the announcement, face alight with restrained laughter. “All right, guys! We’re going to be good little Government-dogs and save those morons out there -” he shoved a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the Marines who were scrambling to ready their ship, “- and we’re going to find out exactly what kind of incompetent put himself in this mess.” Ace paused for a second, thinking this through, and then added the most important part. “And then I’m going to mock him.”
The last part was enough to make everyone cheer. They were, Ace mused as his Bermuda sloop picked up its already-impressive speed, an odd crew - although that would probably be the only type of person who’d want to serve under him, so it all worked out.
*
Captain Smoker did not like having to give up command of his ship, temporary though it might have been. He especially didn’t like having to give it up to some fucking retard of a Commodore at the local Marine base.
Other things on his list of Do Not Like (also known as the ‘Snarl and Glare If Mentioned’ list) included finding out that said retard’s even more retarded subordinate nearly got your ship destroyed, men killed, and - on top of that - had his ass pulled out of the fire by a shichibukai.
A pirate. And not even one with the decency to admit they were working for themselves, but one who ate from the Government’s hand and curled up under its protection. A worthless, scum-sucking, traitor-to-its-own-kind, piece of shit-stained trash, whose only good state would be wrapped up in seastone and with their head swiftly and violently removed.
Captain Smoker was not unduly fond of shichibukai.
Especially when he had to sit next to one.
Only pure self-control kept him from jumping out of his seat and punching the smug little idiot (fucking kid, looked barely out of his teens) in the face. Followed the mewling, simpering Captain on Firefist’s other side, and the scowling Commodore on the other side of the desk from the three of them.
“I’d like it to be known,” Smoker said, almost politely as he tried not to chew his cigars in half, “that if you hadn’t handed my ship over to this fucking moron,” (a jerk of his head towards the other Captain) “it would never have needed this punk,” (a smaller jerk to the closer man, who looked at him, obviously amused) “to save it.”
Commodore Perrin coughed, obviously having grown used to Smoker’s personality (problems) over the last week that he had been confined to the base. “Yes, well. As it is, Captain Marlin will be receiving disciplinary measures, and we should all be grateful that... that shichibukai Firefist was in the area.” A warning look in his eyes as he glanced at Smoker, as if to say ‘Please don’t insult the man who could probably have us all killed if we piss him off’. Smoker ignored it, naturally.
“The only disciplinary action Marlin needs is a dishonourable discharge and a court-martial for extreme stupidity.” A flicker of smoker tugged at his cigars and stubbed them firmly out in Perrin’s ashtray - it took effort not to use the desk. “As for that brat, what’s a shichibukai doing so close to Reverse Mountain, anyway.” A dark glare fixated on the warlord, who continued lounging in the chair and seemed to be enjoying the show. “Shits like you should head for the New World and get yourselves killed.”
Firefist actually grinned at that, arrogant bastard, while the other Marines proceeded to quietly hyperventilate. “Oi, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Been there, didn’t die, got the Biblicard to prove it.” He tilted his head, grin turning to an almost-innocent smile. “Can’t a guy rescue a few Marines without getting chewed out? Hell, if you were so damn worried, you shouldn’t have left your crew with a guy who only got promoted because his darling daddy’s a Rear Admiral.” A flicker of a smirk before the innocent look returned.
And really, he was right. Smoker owed his crew, his ship, Tashigi’s life to this... this pirate filth, because they’d had the sheer dumb luck to be where no shichibukai should be, and because (for sheer bloodlust? Out of boredom?) he’d decided to step in and save them.
It hurt just admitting it to himself, but he - damn. He owed the bastard.
‘Let’s not antagonise the nice shichibukai any further,’ said the Commodore’s desperate eyes, ‘because he might decide to kill us. That would be bad. And if I survived, I would blame you.’
Smoker slouched back, yanking a new cigar from a jacket loop, other hand dipping into his jacket for the lighter - a pointless move, because a spark flickered to sudden life, lighting the cigar for him, and he cast a look of seething fury at the pirate who had the audacity to be smirking at him.
Fucking brat.
*
“You should thank me, y’know,” said the brat, trotting cheerily at Smoker’s heels along the corridors of the base. A hapless chore boy spotted the fuming Captain and merry shichibukai, squeaked in terror, and flung himself into a side-corridor, almost dropping his paperwork.
Smoker ignored that, focused on the pirate, because that’s what he was, whatever the Government said. “Stop fucking following me.”
Behind him, Ace blinked wide, curious eyes, even though he knew the effect was lost on the Marine’s back. “But you’re heading for the exit, aren’t you? And I’m heading there too, so we can all go together.” Sweet Smile: Activated. “It’s very kind of you to show me the way out, Captain... I’d hate to take a wrong turn somewhere, and stumble over a classified file or ten.”
The Marine paused, forcing the pirate to stop. Grit his teeth. Stepped to the side, hands still jammed firmly in his pockets and shoulders hunched with obvious frustration. “You’re walking beside me.”
“Actually,” the shichibukai said politely, conversationally, “I’m standing here, and you’re standing there. There’s no walking invo-urgk!”
Pirate tugged sharply into place at Smoker’s side, the Marine slipped his smoke back in and continued striding towards the exit. Firefist just grinned wider, although at least he kept up, not wandering off to admire secret information and harass Marines.
“Anyway,” Firefist said loudly, which is when Smoker got the first hints that when the brat wanted to annoy you, he did. Not. Shut. Up. “Like I was saying, you should thank me. Seeing as I did save your crew, and all.” He looked pointedly at the Marine, who deigned not to notice.
“Maybe you could save my ear drums, now,” the Marine muttered, drawing a bubble of pleased laughter from the punk.
“You can make a joke! See, I knew it was in you somewhere!” He inched a little to the side, closer to the Marine, who fastened a wary look on Firefist from the corner of his eye. “You should still thank me, though. It’s rude not to.”
Smoker shrugged, forcing himself to be polite. He’d pay back the (small, tiny, barely-there) debt he owed by leaving the building without grabbing the boy by the neck and smashing his head against the wall a few times. It was a generous offer. “Since when the fuck do pirates care about social mores?”
A wide grin. “Generally, we don’t. But I thought you upright, uptight Marines were supposed to. Besides, it’s just common decency, Captain.”
“Rhetorical question, idiot.” Smoker gave a light snort, held open a door for the little brat to go through - no way was he letting Firefist behind him, saviour of his men or not. “Besides, I’m thanking you already. Just with actions instead of words.” At the curious glance from the pirate, he grinned rather more viciously than other man had, and explained. “I’m not killing you yet.”
Ace bit back a bark of startled laughter at the comment and slipped through the door, shaking his head as he paused for Smoker to catch up. “A little arrogant, aren’t you? You’re only a Captain, y’know.”
“That says nothing about my abilities.” A vague, idle answer, but true. Politics counted for much in the Marines after all, much as Smoker loathed the fact. “Besides, you’re - what? Twenty-one, -two?”
“Twenty,” Firefist corrected, a smirk twisting his lips and bringing scattered freckles into Smoker’s focus. “Just means I’m talented, old man.” A Logia for just over three years, shichibukai for more than a year and a half. He may have been young, but the Spade pirates had taken the Grand Line by storm and made their mark in the New World; even though Whitebeard had eventually forced them out, first time around. Besides, Portgas could wait a while before their third shot at the Emperor - they’d fared better the second time around, after all, and the young man had patience.
Smoker’s eyes narrowed as he neatly avoided a sticky puddle of spilt coffee on the tiled floor. “Twenty.” He was Tashigi’s age, and she was only a Chief Petty Officer, for all that she should be an Ensign. Pirates. No politics or time limits to hold them back.
“Twenty,” repeated the pirate, his casual gait somehow keeping up with Smoker’s long-legged march. “You?”
A confused, annoyed glance at this moron who refused to be easily fit in any other box than ‘lunatic’, and Smoker sped up slightly. “What do you care?”
Firefist grinned sloppily, his own pace increasing with ease. “I’m curious. You’re not like most Marines, y’know.”
“That’s probably a good thing.” Another wary glance at the pirate, but hell, it was hardly classified. “Thirty-four.”
“Oh?” Ace blinked lazy eyes up at him, innocence exuded from every pore. “I thought you were older, with that grey hair and all.”
Stop. Turn.
Glare.
“It’s. Green.”
Ace paused. Tilted his head slooowly to the side, eyes latched dubiously onto gravity-defying strands, before he nodded carefully, placating. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
The glare continued. “You’re either being a moron by accident, or on purpose. If it’s the latter, I just want you to know that you’re not succeeding at pissing me off.”
“Really?” A hint of smirk fluttered at the pirate’s expression as he stared up at the Marine. “Then why are you twitching?”
Smoker twitched. Again. Then he turned back and continued walking for the exit, because he’d (stupidly) already decided not to kill the brat, who pouted at the his retreating back and darted alongside, one hand reaching to catch at Smoker’s arm; the Marine slapped it away, and Firefist settled for a wounded expression, clutching at his hand like Smoker had just shoved a knife through it.
“You’re cruel, y’know that?”
Shrug. “And you’re an idiot.”
The pirate grinned, a real, wide one that took another year or two off his appearance. He looked like some civilian kid - a well-built civilian, and you’d have to ignore the piratical clothes (what clothing he did have) and the dagger at his waist, but that sheer life in his eyes... the only pirates who held that look were rookies, Smoker was sure, people who hadn’t yet struggled and dragged themselves through mud and blood and shit to reach one of the coveted positions of power. But this brat had eyes that looked like they were still excited by the first, fresh sight of the Grand Line; energy, vitality, fire, and right now, all directed at him.
“You’re unpredictable, too.” Ace’s grin widened, and he dropped the oh-so-injured hand to let his thumb curve around a belt-loop and rest there. “I like that.”
Smoker drew another cigar from his jacket then, three steps from the exit, and felt a strange pang of disappointment when he had to draw his lighter, the moron darting ahead to leave first in his rush to get to port, barely flicking his head around to quirk a teasing smile at the Marine, before he was outside and vanishing into a crowd.
Still. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if he’d see him again. And if he did, Firefist was still a pirate, shichibukai or not, and it was the White Hunter’s job to bring people like him down, no matter how bright their eyes burned.