One Piece fic-PoSM, Chapter 9
Title: The Psychology of a Shattered Mind
Chapter Title: Triangle
Rating: PG-13/T
Characters: Usopp, Sogeking, Sanji, Robin, a few others make appearances.
Word Count: About 4.2k
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, implications of non-con/dub-con, and violence. Angsty, disturbed Usopp and blatant excuse for nakama comfort. This will be intense. Possible spoilers for entire series. Jumps off from Usopp being stuck on the Bowin Islands.
Can also be found at FF.net here. If you want to comment it will be much loved, and feel free to do so here or over at FF.Net. I've begun to feel increasingly at home here on LJ. Con Crit loved also.
Chapter links (on LJ): Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15
Usopp has a hard time keeping up with the woman's flighty energy, even though he's used to that sort of thing on the Sunny. She never lingers, instead dab-dab-dabbing at the jar of salve and then dab-dab-dabbing at the burn in quick little motions.
She also keeps up a constant stream of words while she's treating him. It's punctuated with a good number of names he doesn't know and one too many phrases like, "I heard he said…" and "she told me…" and "rumor has it…" that remind him strongly of the way Syrup's busybody used to talk. She seems to expect he knows what it all means. Either that or the "can you believe that?"s and the "have you heard anything else about it?"s are entirely metaphorical.
In either case, she plows blithely on through what little response she gets from him, and all the talk leaves him feeling like his head's been twisted around several more times than it already has. At last, after finishing her treatment, she introduces herself as "Lady Adel, the third commoner wife of Saint Gathram, and Saint Iddis' nursemaid since his birth."
Now those are some words he can actually comprehend, which he finds a relief. He, of course, introduces himself, when she presses him to speak up, as: "The Warrior of the Bowin Islands, Booga-shaka," and is quite pleased with how smoothly he pulls that one off. He's really starting to warm up to the name after all.
Instructions follow introductions, and he begins to wonder where Saint Iddis is in all this. Still with his father, maybe?
Not that he's eager to see either of the two ever again…
She leads him back out into the inner hall and deeper into the quarters, into a lavishly furnished room. It's spacious enough for a bed, shelves, and a desk to sit against the walls, and still leave a large amount of the center of the room open.
Overall, the room strikes him as gaudy-every fabric looks thick, and is set in colors of cream and mahogany, covered with twisting details of embroidered flowers. Mahogany-cream-cream-mahogany! Even the wood of the poster bed, the only truly natural-looking thing in the room, is suffocating under that dark color. And, has anyone mentioned all the twisted cord and tassels lining the edges of everything?
As he takes a tentative step onto the thick carpet, following Lady Adel into the room, he looks down and notices that there are toys scattered all over, the only real clues as to the room's occupant-a bright orange ball, a stuffed dog, a … pile of painted rocks?
"Be careful not to move anything," Lady Adel says, turning her head to look back at him, her lips and brows set in stern lines. Her tone sobers his growing curiosity about the reason for the rocks. "Saint Iddis is very particular about the placement of his things and will be upset if he finds anything amiss-and he will notice the slightest change."
With a gulp, he steps wide over the rocks, and continues following her to one corner of the room, where a number of items that scream "chores!" are gathered.
"You'll wash all Saint Iddis' laundry at least once a week, but probably more often as needed. Here is the first batch," says Lady Adel. She now deposits a large bundle of clothing into Usopp's arms. "You're also responsible for ensuring his rooms are spotless at all times."
He eyes the broom and mop and bucket behind her and decides that any friendly relationship he might otherwise have developed with these cleaning implements will never be.
"And, since you're only the slave of a child, you may be ordered by his parents, Saint Gathram and Saint Venosa, to perform other tasks on occasion." She piles more clothing on top of what he's already got in his arms, and he has to tip his head back, lest he end up with his nose buried under Saint Iddis' … dirty underwear.
What he is starting to see is that his future will likely include hands raw from working, a great deal of time on his knees, and way too much dirty underwear.
Evil underwear, in fact. Underwear scheming to take over the world, but constantly thwarted by the soapy scrubbing action of the Great … he means, the Warrior Booga-shaka! …Yes, him. Not quite as spectacular a hero as the Great Captain Usopp, or even Sogeking, but a pretty close third.
Oh well. At least the world won't be overrun by smelly undergarments.
"You will test all his food before he eats it, when it isn't prepared by me." At this, eyes widen, even though he fights it. The ideas that pop into his head at that one are freaking scary. Maybe she senses this somehow, because he next words try to be assuaging: "Don't worry, I've never heard of anyone crazy enough to actually try to poison a Celestial, but they're suspicious people, often enough to overcome a belief no one would try it."
Not comforting. Not comforting at all.
"You'll attend him as he demands, and-"
A bang comes from the direction of the entry hall, as if the front door that Adel had so carefully opened and closed has been slammed against the wall.
Usopp groans mentally as the voice that comes to them from the hall has that wavering, drawn-out pitch of someone feeling slighted.
"Adel…"
Lady Adel nods briefly at him, and hurries to meet Saint Iddis, making a general fuss over him the moment he's in the doorway. Usopp has to turn to an awkward angle to see any of this, with the giant pile of laundry in his face. He's not sure whether he should also be rushing to "greet" Saint Iddis or not, and stumbles hesitantly in that direction.
He freezes as an alarm in his head goes off, and his toe stops just as it touches something. Twisting carefully, he looks to the floor, stiffening when he realizes what he almost stepped right into.
The rocks. Of course the rocks. Saint Iddis' precious "absolutely do not move" rocks.
Why does this kid even have a pile of rocks?
He cranes his neck to look at Lady Adel and Saint Iddis. Neither seem to have noticed him, and continue to-well, Lady Adel is brushing loose strands of Saint Iddis's dark brown hair back up into that funny topknot-column that the Celestials seem to like so much, and adjusting the high collar of the boy's white robe, even as Saint Iddis tries to wave her off. Iddis scrunches his nose-his features are nowhere near as pudgy and ugly as those of the Celestial that Luffy'd punched at Sabaody-but the expression certainly doesn't do much for him.
"Some stupid bodyguard insisted on following me all the way here, and I really had to tell him off to get him to go away, 'cause he even tried to come in here!"
Slowly, cautiously, Usopp scooches back a good meter from the rocks. Neither of the two notice him now, either.
That done, he stays where he is, resolutely ignoring the ache that's starting up in his arms from holding the pile of laundry. He is going to wait right here, away from everything hazardous, until someone tells him explicitly what to do.
No way he's gonna dig himself any deeper than he already has.
He sits with his back pressed up against the crate-barrier as the shock to his shoulder and arms settles to a dull ache. He'd almost forgotten how bad the recoil could bruise when you aren't used to it. He'd thought he was used to it, but it's been … a week or two since he really held one, and he'd been ill-prepared, set to motion before he'd really been ready.
He's afraid to look at what he's done. The harsh gasps of one of the men had died out minutes ago. Now there are only his own quick inhales and the muted but erratic pounding of a distant battle. Even with all the background noise, the silence from that one spot turns his stomach.
When something starts dripping, his hands tighten around the rifle and he can't stay there paralyzed anymore. Every thought comes rushing forward, pushing at him.
I wasn't supposed to-I didn't mean to-
I thought things would be different, not having to-
-kill.
For a fleeting moment, he thinks maybe he hadn't, that he hadn't gone for the quick one-bullet-to-the-head like he thought, that maybe he'd aimed badly or shuddered and thrown the shot off or something, but he doesn't believe it. Even if he hadn't intended it, he'd probably have managed to anyway. Still, that tiny sliver of hope otherwise is enough to drag him out from his hiding place, to crawl and rise and stumble forward until he can see. It's only then that that sliver splinters and falls away.
One lies against the wall, the other is slumped over the crate of rice, blood staining the grains red.
He nearly falls to his knees, but even though Sogeking is silent-no not just silent, holding onto his silence, withdrawn-he manages to stay standing.
I thought things could change.
From somewhere behind Sogeking, in the darkest corners of his mind, there is hysterical laughter, echoing, making him flinch.
But they didn't.
The laughter cuts off. There's a snarl from the darkness. Idiot, did you think the reality would simply go away? How many more have to be killed before you accept what a warrior really is?
It's not right, Sogeking breaks his silence at last, curling the cape tighter around himself and standing there stiffly. This is not kind of hero I wanted to be.
I had to bear the slaughter you couldn't! Did you think that afterward I would vanish so easily? I'm an instinct, finely honed, merciless, an integral part of you!
I needed to live!
He itches under Sogeking's mask now-somehow, it doesn't seem to rest on his face right-and the smell of blood is getting strong enough to gag on. His eyes are watering but he doesn't even feel an inner twinge as he pulls the one body off of the rice. The moment he lets go, however, he takes a wide step away and nearly tumbles backward over a crate.
After that he almost runs into a few walls in his haste to get out of the room. Even though he wants to stay where he is, to say stop everything until I can get my head back on straight, his heart is showing no sign of slowing its hammering and he is flushed with dizzying heat. He can't ignore the need to do, to go. Maybe it's simply the adrenalin, or maybe he knows that stopping now will give him too much of a chance to think, and the idea is frightening.
The seagulls. Let's just-just find them. Stop them, like I first intended. That, back there-that cannot happen again.
Sanji barely manages to keep from getting punched in the face by Luffy, who clearly has trouble recognizing people in this weather. A quick duck saves his face from the undesired meeting, and he shouts a few curses he normally reserves for when Luffy gets too grabby at mealtimes.
"That was nearly my head, idiot!"
Luffy blinks at him, before sending one invader flying into five more without even looking. "Sorry, Sanji, I thought you were a cannonball."
"You thought I-" He clamps down on the question there, deciding he doesn't want to know what the "cannonballs" comment was about. He'd probably get the urge to waste time kicking Luffy in the head if he did.
Time to waste, he does not have.
So he moves on, passing Brook as he does so. Without stopping, Sanji watches him lunge and slash for the briefest of moments.
Turning the corner, he comes upon an invader about to sneak through the door that leads to the ladder up to the library hatch. The man may have gotten past Brook and Luffy, but clearly, Sanji thinks with a smirk, his luck has just run out, and the invader is over the side before he can even notice he's not alone.
Still, slightly worried that there might have been others who made it past Luffy and Brook earlier, Sanji knows he doesn't have much time for self-congratulations. He hurries up the ladder to the library, pushing up the hatch with one arm.
Sliding pieces of glass tinkle against each other when they come to a rest at the hatch's lower edge. His eyes widen as a cold draft, as cold as the air outside, ghosts over his face.
The first thing he notices, perhaps because his face is so very close to it, is the broken glass all over the floor.
Yep. The windows.
Am I right, or am I right? he thinks, though there's no smugness in it, only irony.
The second thing, which makes him forget about the glass until later when he comes back into the library again, is Robin. She is slumped against a bookshelf, and covering her is a bright red cloth that drapes down from beneath her chin.
Later, he realizes he also doesn't remember springing from the hatch, crossing the distance between them, and kneeling at her side, either.
For a moment he's afraid to touch her, afraid that he might actually be too late and if he touches her, he'll find that out. The compelling urge to know quickly overrides any apprehension, however, and he reaches out, first to brush back some hair that's strayed into her face. He almost collapses with relief when he feels a warm breath tickle the back of his hand. "Robin, baby, please." He grips her shoulders and shakes, gently, hoping he's not risking making anything worse by doing so. "You gotta open your eyes for me. Come on now. I'll make you all the fresh pots of coffee you could ever want, in your favorite roast…" Pause. Shake. "…No, better, I'll make Mosshead throw out all his exercise equipment so you have more space for your books! Please, Robin, just be all right-" There's an edge creeping into his voice by time he gets to the third shake, but then her slack lips twitch into a grimace.
One deep inhale and one shaky exhale later, her hand comes out from under the cloth and goes to her temple. Her brows crease, making delicate furrows, and Sanji fights back a nosebleed at the sight. Ah, his flower Robin looks so beautiful even when-or maybe especially when-hovering just at the edge of consciousness, her defenses down, in need of his protection!
Robin's dazzling blue eyes open and look at him with confusion. He keeps as hand on her arm just in case as she sits up straighter, leaning forward a little, away from the bookshelf. The red cloth covering her drops down to her waist.
This cloth-the texture and color is all-too familiar, and he frowns, trying to decide if-
"Why is Sogeking's…?" His gaze snaps back to Robin's face momentarily when she speaks. Her hand comes out from under the cloth, and then picks up an edge. "This-this should not be here."
So Robin thinks it, too... "Why do you have that?" he asks, uncertain, the sinking feeling from earlier growing. "What happened here?"
She scans the room, urgency in the quickness of her sweep, but she clearly doesn't find what she's looking for, because her frown remains. "He's in trouble," she murmurs.
"Robin?"
Robin retains her quiet elegance despite the fact that she staggers a little when getting to her feet, and Sanji makes a mental note to ask Chopper to give her a thorough check-over the moment he has the chance. Finally she meets his gaze and elaborates, an undercurrent of urgency in her tone. "Usopp-does anyone know where he is right now?"
The sound of two gunshots-two close gunshots-beat him to an answer, and he jumps to stand in front of Robin, feet spread wide and every sense alert.
But those almost sounded like they came from above. He doesn't know if it's Usopp-Usopp, with a gun?-or someone shooting at him-
Robin's quiet "he's in trouble" echoes in his head, and he shakes himself, confusion solidifying into hard determination. If Usopp is really in trouble, now is the time to do something about it, not debate it. Their first mistake was letting him face this alone, but Sanji'll be damned if he lets it be their last as well.
"But-a rifle-I could kill my opponent with this!" he protests, as the weighty object is dropped into his hands.
The woman who gave him the rifle puts her hands on her hips. Muscles ripple faintly under her sunburned, freckled skin. She arches a brow. "That would be the point."
He works his jaw a little but only stares in silence, because even he can't think of a reply to that. His arms are already starting to tremble. They don't really-
Is this what Gathram meant by a worse fate?
She sighs-a short, long-suffering exhale-and turns the short man behind her. "Up those odds, sixty to one this guy doesn't make it past his first fight. Even with the gun."
The man smirks and scribbles on the clipboard in one arm.
Usopp swallows hard.
Usopp swallows hard.
He almost regrets leaving Sogeking's cape behind with Robin now-not having the protective fabric leaves him feeling exposed, even with a coat. Robin has been nice to him, but there's almost-almost something more, words on the tip of his tongue, images half-remembered-too many, too jumbled to be sure he has any of them right.
He is sure, however, that leaving the cape over her was right.
Now that he knows the how much of a threat these cannonballs really are, he's determined to put a stop to any advantage the enemy might be holding, and do it as quickly as possible. His stomach twists more than ever at the thought of what other horrible things might have happened to this ship and its crew that he doesn't even know about, and his trembling legs threaten collapse.
His finger is growing stiff on the trigger, even though his hands tingle with an odd warmth. The mask still doesn't sit right. Sogeking's withdrawn, distant, and Usopp can tell that he's mulling over what happened down there. Sulking, if Sogeking can be said to do such a thing. His body almost hums with disapproval. Usopp cringes under it and seeks the only defense he can think of.
I had to.
Did you? And if he really believed he had to, Sogeking wouldn't have that anger in his voice, now, would he? Just like you had to-
Here, an interruption.
-Of course you did.
That last voice is dangerously soothing, but too tinged by cold, he thinks. Still, he gets a feeling like cotton in the ears, one not entirely unwelcome.
Remember me yet?
He shifts, hefts the rifle, and searches the gray sky for his target.
I'm in the taste of blood in your mouth, the smell of discharged gunpowder, the agony on your enemy's face…
They died and it wasn't right. It wasn't right.
His hands tighten on the gun, until he can't tell if they're aching from the cold or the tension.
Focus … focus…
He isn't expecting to sight two of the birds so quickly, even from here, on the roof of the library and bath. A moment of careful examination, and his beliefs are confirmed. That stripe was a surveillance transponder snail all along.
All along…
I am-
This time, he's ready for the recoil, enough that he pulls off a second shot without much pause. Just after that the wind gusts, blasting one side of his body with cold so sharp it's painful. He turns his face away.
The birds have long since vanished when he looks back to the sky. Then the sails tilt-or is it the sky and ocean that tilt?-and the he tilts with them. He ends up on hands and knees, fighting not to be sick into the snow.
He's tired, all the way down to his core, and there's no escaping this one, is there? He needed to get back to Luffy, needed to be strong, but this-
The kid screams again, and the guards laugh, and when the gun's at his back he realizes that there is no other choice. Usopp goes cold then. Sogeking turns away, and no matter how much he begs, won't turn back.
I need you, he screams in his mind, I need someone who can.
His whole body pounds with his heart; his throat is closing in on itself. The safety of the gun behind him clicks as it's released. Jeering laughter echoes even more loudly, tearing at his ears.
Sogeking won't. Can't. Neither of them. He's going to die.
Arms wrap around him, making his skin tingle where touched. Fingers entwine his, firming up his grip on the weapon that had been about to slip from his fingers. Chill air brushes over his neck, like a distant door has been opened to a winter snowstorm.
Perhaps there is someone who can.
Now, Usopp, says the Warrior Booga-shaka, a smile nearly tangible in his voice as his whispers, To live, you must only face the truth and admit that you are no hero…
Usopp's lungs ache, protesting how rapidly he is breathing in this cold, dry air, and he grabs onto the front of his coat, chanting to himself, calm down, just calm down. It's over, you got the birds, you don't have to fight anymore-
"-sopp? Usopp, are you-?"
He's startled, and stiffens. No one there. There was no one there a moment ago. The enemy's snuck up on him, and he let them. The rifle is back in his hands without a second thought, and he whirls, bringing it up as he pivots on his knee.
No-this- Sogeking is alarmed, warning. Why would they say "Usopp" if-
Fear is spurring him on, swallowing up caution. At the first glimpse of black in the corner of his eye, he thinks a Celestial Dragon attendant and his finger tightens on the trigger.
Then he catches sight of the face, that one blue eye staring back at him, wide with surprise, the other hidden by blond hair. No. Realization stabs him, but the panic is still panic, only with different reason. His finger's already halfway down and the shot is already aligned and it feels like he's tumbling down a slope. There's nothing to grab hold of, nothing to stop the crash at the bottom-
"Un Fleur!"
An arm sprouts from the stock and shoves against his outer arm, knocking the shot off. The butt slams into his face on the recoil instead into his shoulder, splintering the mask and driving shards into his cheek. For a moment, everything goes black, and he comes to lying on his back, something wet tickling as it trickles down his face. The ringing in his ears makes the cursing voice above him seem distant.
Most of his face now feels bare to the cold, but a large piece of the mask still clings to the goggles.
He turns his head a little, and there, at the edge of the deck, stands Sogeking, staring, Kabuto grasped in one hand. Disappointment reflects as the silence between them stretches. The red cape flaps in water-like waves as it curls around him, but he's rigid, holding himself tightly coiled.
Tears are dripping from behind the mask, and Usopp watches numbly as they fall and vanish into the haze of snow before they even reach the deck. Odd, but Sogeking doesn't seem to be crying for himself, and odder yet, isn't it, that Usopp's own eyes are dry? But, he knows what Sogeking will say already, and he has no points he can argue.
You could have killed him just now, your comrade. Robin was behind him; he wasn't going to step out of the way even though he could have. When you said you were no hero, maybe-maybe you were right after all.
Usopp could say, Booga-shaka was the one who said that. Or, was there a choice? Or even, I didn't mean it.
He doesn't say any of that, because the first thing that comes to him instead is: …Sniper Island doesn't really exist, does it?
You've always known the truth of that. Sogeking whispers, voice strained. He is turns away, but then lingers one moment more, looking back. Goodbye … Usopp.
I'm sorry.
Usopp wants to beg and shout please, please stay, but the words won't come, they only stick and pile up in his throat. He lies there, feeling as if his limbs are weighed down, unable to be lifted, as the distance between them widens.
Goodbye…
Sogeking's presence slowly fades as he moves off into the whirling snow, and Usopp watches, unable to move, unable to look away, until Sogeking is swallowed up by white and the howling of the wind.
Continued in Chapter 10: Letter of Marque