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"Rubber baby buggy bumper, rubber baby buggy bumper, rubber baby buggy bumper…round the rough and rugged rock the ragged racer ran, round the rough and rugged rock the ragged racer ran…" Disco raked his fingers through his hair as he paced behind the curtain of the auction house. He chanted a series of tongue-twisters with the ease of familiarity, rehearsed the series of jokes he would drop 'spontaneously' during lulls in the bidding, and tried not to be nervous.
"Betty Botter bought some butter, but she said this bitter's bitter. If I put it in my batter it will make my batter bitter. So she bought a bit of better butter, put it in her bitter batter, made her bitter batter better, so 'tis better Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter…"
It was difficult not to be nervous when he was about to headline the first sales of Saboady's first—and so far only—Government-approved auction house. For years Disco had supplemented his meager income selling bubble chariots by hosting black market sales, but newly appointed Warlord Donquioxte Doflamingo was about to do the impossible by setting up his newest business venture out in the open where everyone could see, spitting in the eye of a Government that waxed poetic on the virtues of Justice while corruption poisoned the very scaffold their soapbox was perched on.
The politics of his new job mattered little to Disco; it was the possibility of disappointing his new patron that worried him. Doflamingo was terrifying, and if the auction didn't go well…
"We're on in five!" someone shouted, and Disco hurried into position. He donned a winning smile, his confidence rising as he brought up in his mind's eye the different lots that were coming to the block today. He was a natural-born salesman, and even if he wasn't it would be next to impossible to screw up an auction that included two pirate captains, a half-giant, and a classically-trained violinist who happened to be very easy on the eyes.
He thought little of the lives he was ruining. He never did. The money was good, and for a man like Disco, that was enough.
***
The auction house was more popular than anyone ever could have expected. Soon sales were being conducted every day of the week, with special marquee events sprinkled in every couple of months when enough big-ticket items were available. It was business and a show, and it wasn't uncommon for people with no intention of bidding to come just for the fun of watching.
There were, however, some specimens that had to be kept from the spotlight, specialty items that would be seen as…distasteful...by the general public should they ever find out of their existence. There were strict guidelines set by the World Government on who could be sold as slaves: criminals, citizens of non-World Government affiliated nations, so on and so forth. While these rules were rarely enforced, there were grey areas that even the hardest of native Saboadians would balk at.
"And here you are, Saint Mab," Disco said, handing the baby boy over to one of the Dragon's many guards. "Eight pounds, nine ounces. Born just yesterday afternoon."
The Dragon turned her attention from the babe. "And the mother?"
"Dead," Disco said, the lie slipping easily off of his tongue. "Without your charity he would be destined for the orphanage."
The Celestial Dragon's eyes glittered, but she made no move to hold the baby herself. To her it wasn't human. The World Nobility was too out of touch with reality for that to even cross their minds. This particular Dragon came every few months with the request for a newborn child, preferably a boy. Whatever she did with them all Disco didn't know, and as one of her assistants counted a stack of bills he couldn't be bothered to care.
***
Years passed, and the auction house made millions. Disco bought a house in the nicest district of Saboady, picked out a slave or two of his own, and settled into a comfortable lifestyle that he never could have afforded through conventional means. The faces of those on the auction block blurred together into an indistinct haze. Disco could rattle off the difference in profit margins between a mink, a pirate, and a whore, but if one asked him to name any of the infamous men and woman he'd sold, they would only be met with a blank stare.
It took a lot for a slave to stick out of the crowd, but one day a prepubescent boy managed just that. His large grey-green eyes looked like a storm about to break over the open sea, and his rich olive complexion and dark curly hair marked him as a future ladies' man, should he manage to live that long.
"Family?" Disco asked, walking a slow circle around the boy. The hatred radiating off him was almost palpable, the strongest he'd felt in one so young since he sold a trio of young Kuja warriors a few months previous. He'd learned from that encounter what extremes desperation drove some too, and if this boy had family looking for him it was best to know in advance.
"None," the slaver said. "He's one of those Water People, you know, the traders that go from island to island selling cheap junk to idiots who don't know any better. Whole clan of 'em was on the boat when we jumped 'em, but this lad's the only one who survived."
"Pity," Disco said. "They're famous for their music, aren't they? The Dragons are always looking for entertainment."
"You're getting aheada yourself, Disco. Listen to this." The slaver prodded the boy with the handle of his sword. The boy snarled, but fear flashed through his eyes when the man drew his blade threateningly. Haltingly the boy began to sing, a high, pure soprano that made everyone within hearing stop to listen. It was the most beautiful sound Disco had heard in his entire life, and at that moment he knew he had to have him, even if that meant overpaying.
Boy sopranos didn't stay sopranos without a little outside help, but that wasn't any of Disco's business. His only job was to provide a luxury for those rich enough to afford it, and a talent like this was certainly worth the money.
***
"You've heard the stories. You've seen the pictures," Disco exclaimed to his captive audience. There were times when he had to labor to sell his product, and days when the slaves sold themselves.
Today was one of the latter.
"Oh, yes, you all know the rumors, and the moment of truth has arrived! Feast your eyes upon one of the legendary creatures of the deepest seas, a fish walking on dry land, one of the rarest gems of the ocean floor! A fishman!"
Disco threw back the curtain off the large bowl. One of the women in the crowd screamed at the grotesque monster, and Disco had to keep himself from smiling. "The fairer sex and those with delicate constitutions might wish to avert their gaze. As for everyone else, you'll never see a finer specimen! First spotted several kilometers off the shores of Saboady itself, this beast was attempting to step foot onto the archipelago when a watch group captured him moments before he could initiate a terrorist attack against a local business…"
Disco continued to spin his story and tried not to look at the fishman directly. The thing was ten feet tall at least, and easily the strongest creature the auction house had been asked to hold. Webbed hands pressed against the glass of the aquarium, and not for the first time Disco was glad he'd decided to drug it before the sale began.
But not even the sedative could erase the keen intelligence in the unnaturally red eyes that bored into Disco's soul, prickling even the auctioneer's hardened heart. They both knew the truth of his capture. The fishman had been caught in an attempted attack on a local business, but that business was one of the many slave rings on the archipelago. A young mermaid had gone free due to his interference, but an adult male fishman wasn't a bad consolation prize.
"The bidding opens at five hundred thousand bellies, do I see a hand there in the back? Yes, sir, you in the back. Five hundred thousand. Do I see five twenty-five, five twenty-five…"
The bidding went on for several minutes, and Disco was able to egg on a war between two Celestial Dragons until…
"Going once, going twice, SOLD for nine hundred thousand berries! Congratulations, Saint Samedie on your newest purchase, Fisher Tiger!"
***
"Let go of me, ya old hag! I ain't goin' in there! You can't make me!"
"Shuddup, you worthless piece of crap, and do what your Momma says."
"No!"
There was a crash, and Disco slammed his quill on his desk. Since the mass breakout on Mariejois the demand for slaves had skyrocketed, inflating prices which in turn encouraged competition. Doflamingo expected him to secure the market and capitalize on the rush, but how was he supposed to get any work done if he kept being distracted? Grabbing his hat and his cloak, the auctioneer stalked out to the back entrance of the auction house where the slaves were brought and held. A trio of security guards stood hesitantly while a civilian man struggled to keep a hold on a young girl, perhaps eleven or twelve years of age. Behind them was a woman with ragged, brittle hair that had been bleached one too many times screamed at them both.
"For God's sake, can't you keep control of one damn kid? Hurry up and get her sold. I don't got time for this!"
"She's your brat!" the man snapped back. He slapped the girl across the cheek, the sound echoing through the room. "You're making this harder then it's got to be—ow! You little bitch! She bit me!"
Disco had heard enough. Pushing through the growing crowd, he shouted, "What is the meaning of this? It's after hours. Why haven't these pieces of trash been thrown out yet?"
"Watch who you're callin' trash!" the woman shrieked, and Disco sniffed in distain. She was unsteady on her feet, her pupils blown wide open. A junkie, if he had to guess, looking for her next hit.
"I'll call a dog a dog when I see one," he said coolly. "And we're not taking any merchandise at this time. Come back tomorrow."
"It can't wait till tomorrow! Look at her, you ain't seen a better girl. All I need is ten thou'."
The guardsmen held their breath and waited for Disco's verdict. Ten thousand bellies was embarrassingly low for an asking price, and this idiot might be sober enough in the morning to realize it. He gave the squirming girl an appraising glance, and had to fight from rolling his eyes. The little wretch was an awkward, gangling thing, simultaneously too young and too old for his clientele's usual tastes, useless for anything other than hard labor but without the upper body strength preferred for that line of work.
"I'll give you five, and that's being generous," Disco said.
The girl's brown eyes widened in horror. With the right cosmetics she might be passed off as pretty, but pretty didn't cut it with the Celestial Dragons. "No, please! I'll be good, I promise," she begged the woman. "I'll do anything you want. I'll work. I'll give you all my money, p-please, don't…" Her composure cracked, and tears streamed out of the corner of her eyes.
"Stop your blubbering, Jean, and for once in your life do sommthin' useful!" the woman said. She turned to Disco. "I'll take it."
"Mom!" the girl cried as the man thrust her into the arms of the nearest guard, who drug her away to the cages while Disco completed the transaction. He went home that night very pleased with the day's work. Maybe he couldn't sell the girl on her own, but in the right group of slaves he still would be able to make hundreds of thousands of bellies in profit.
***
Of course, with notoriety came danger. One night on his way home a group of thugs swarmed his bubble chariot and caused it to topple over. Disco wasn't, and never would be much of a fighter, and he never thought there would be anyone stupid enough to attack him. It was dumb luck—or a sign of divine favor—that someone happened to intervene before he was killed, and he spent the next three days recovering in the local hospital.
He was known well enough throughout the archipelago to get his own room, and he managed sweet-talk his way into receiving one on one attention from one of the best nurses on staff. The next morning his hospital suite was inundated with flowers, cards, and well-wishes from throughout the community, each expressing that the auction isn't quite the same without his charisma driving it. At noon an auction house employee brought him lunch and asked how he was feeling.
"I want whoever did this on the auction block the first day I get back!" Disco snarled, grabbing the hapless man by his tie. "Find them!"
And they did, because Disco was the most important man in the most important business on the Saboady Archipelago. Without the slave trade the local economy would collapse, and everyone with two brain cells to rub together knew that. Forget the nobles, pirates, and marines that vied for dominance at the front door to the New World, here Disco was a god, and he deserved to be treated as such.
And if he was only attacked because he had sold the gang leader's little sister the week before, that was their loss. They should have known better than to let her out of their sight.
***
Disco spent his entire adult life working towards greatness, only for everything to be stolen from him in an instant.
After paying the expenses of the auction house and his salary, all profits were sent directly to Donquixote Doflamingo. Disco thought…he assumed…that if anything were to happen to the auction house itself that his patron would spare no expense setting things back to rights. It only made sense. Why would a former pirate throw away something that was making him so much money?
He thought wrong, and now Disco was destitute. He had no house, he had no slaves, and overnight he went from local celebrity to archipelago pariah, and he had no idea how.
Here, on the land of resin and fleeting amusements, Disco's bubble had burst, and though he didn't realize it, he had no one to blame but himself.