Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chandeliers of white crystal and glass hang low, champagne bubbles bobbing along the ceiling to illuminate the ballroom in gold. High-arched windows reflect splendour and riches, a hundred gowns and a hundred ties sweeping past like stars clustered and glimmering far out of reach. Outside, silver sands of the Alabastian desert stretch into the night, but it is the hall that overshadows the moonlight, a party of diamonds and rubies burning as incessant as the sun. Colours and fabrics from all across the seas adorn the guests, royal blues and formal blacks, silvers tinted beli green and reds as dark as blood. They weave between the circular tabletops, cloths of immaculate white decorated with dishes and platters and delicate glasses. Many of the guests linger by the windows, teasing the world beyond these golden boundaries with a taste of the wealth within. Others twirl with the ballroom intimacy, a spinning masterpiece to the sound of cello and violin bows.

Slumped in one of the chairs, Peregrine rolls a champagne glass between their teeth. The rim clinks with every rotation, the base like a pendulum swinging back and forth across the tablecloth. A tiny pool of wine still remains in the glass, and it sloshes over and over like the laughter from the guests, bubbly drunk and yet ceaselessly divine.

Peregrine huffs, teeth grinding into the glass. Only a few hours have passed since the party began, but they hated this place from the moment the oaken doors swung open without a creak or a crack, bidding the influx of high-born and elite to grace the ballroom floor. Peregrine had bee-lined straight to the food and claimed four of the platters for themself, but though this had encouraged whispers and gentle laughter from the other guests, nobody had cared enough to argue.

For all the guests know, Peregrine’s a noble just like them.

“Nobles don’t get in trouble for anything,” Peregrine grumbles, chin aching a little from being propped up on the table. They had only drunk the champagne to play with the glass, but now even that isn’t enough to distract them from the boredom of the event.

They wish they had a friend to talk to, but the elaborate masks of the guests makes seeking a familiar face a particularly challenging endeavour. No two masks are the same, some concealing the entire face and others, like Peregrine’s, only the eyes. More beautiful and intricate than the gowns of even the most expensively dressed, the masks feature the designs of animals, gold-plated, silver-gilded, or painted with the richest hues, this by far the most extravagant jungle that has ever been seen.

Peregrine’s mask has eyes smudged black and feathers speckled and grey spilling from the tips, and they suppose that’s where they got their name.

The party is in full swing, and will be for many hours more. Only the sun can rival the incandescent verve of the ball, but the moon could overshadow Peregrine’s, their interest fatigued by the lonely corner they have found. Mingling with the other guests would offer a temporary relief from boredom, but while Peregrine does consider themself a social individual, this is a party that they are reluctant to lose themself in.

The reason that they are here takes precedence, and it's not to make friends. (Although - that would be pretty awesome; friends and free food are the two things that Peregrine will never say no to, after all). Something is going to happen tonight that Peregrine must prevent at all costs, but as they shove the somewhat chewed champagne glass at a passing waiter and settle a hand atop the speckled plume fanning across their head, the details of what is due to occur blur and fade from their mind.

Instead of pondering this curious happenstance, Peregrine decides to rob the buffet table again. There are only so many thoughts they can have on an empty stomach after all, so despite having already devoured four of the silver platters, Peregrine ambles over to pick their fifth, sixth, and seventh courses for the night.

“Don't eat the prawns,” comes a sigh of advice from across the table, and Peregrine blinks, looking up from the plate to watch the other guest wrinkle their nose. “The chef responsible for that dish deserves to be shot.”

Peregrine glances between their plate and the guest, struggling to resist the temptation of free food, no matter how terrible it may be. They'll eat pretty much anything, really, and the indecision must show on their face, for the other party guest sighs again.

“Here.” The stranger offers another platter instead, seemingly unfazed by the amount of food that Peregrine is planning on wolfing down. “At least eat something decent.”

Peregrine smiles, cheeks pulling up behind their mask. “Thanks! I'm Peregrine. What else is good to eat mis - err -”

They catch themself at the last second, blinking owlishly at the stranger. Peregrine, of all people, does not want to assume, so they hastily brighten their smile to correct for that almost spectacular blunder.

The stranger only seems amused, mouth softening from its steely line but not quite achieving a smile, attempted on a face that is unused to smiling, perhaps. Blond hair spills over half of their face, choppy and tamed out of shape, and as the guest lifts a cigarette to their lips, the silver detail in their dress catches the effervescent light.

“It's Ram, for tonight,” they say, voice a deep, smooth fog over the open ocean. The mask’s horns swirl asymmetrically, two jagged cornucopias atop Ram’s daffodil hair. “Forget that mister or miss bullshit - although it's miss if you insist on it like everyone else in this stupid party. Can't promise I won't kick your face in though.”

Peregrine laughs loudly enough to startle the guests about them, and all except Ram shake their heads at the sound. “You don't wanna be here either?” they ask, moving down the table to continue stocking up on food.

Ram follows, larger stride easily matching Peregrine’s bouncy pace. She gestures to the most appealing dishes and turns her nose up at others as they converse, and Peregrine listens to her advice without a single argument.

“I'm not one for parties,” Ram admits, sharp features twisting into a scowl. “Not when I'm a guest, anyway. I'd rather be in the kitchen, to be honest.”

Peregrine shoves an entire chicken drumstick into their mouth and then pulls clean the bone. “Ah? You're a cook? I thought nobles hired people to do that sorta stuff!”

“They do,” Ram replies smoothly, and Peregrine imagines that one of her eyebrows has shot up beneath her mask. “Don't we?”

Peregrine laughs. Whoops, they think, realising that they've been played. Quick-witted they are not, and thinking up a lie to maintain their pretence of being nobility has come far too late to fool somebody as astute as Ram, it seems. They scratch their cheek with a guilty titter, hoping that the compulsion to speak honestly won't extend to every guest that spares a few nice comments for them.

(What sort of pirate would they be then?)

Peregrine sucks in their bottom lip, trying to convey an innocent air. “Guess so! Hey, hey - those little sausages look cute! How do they taste?”

It's a mediocre distraction, but -

“Better if you refrain from eating the wooden sticks,” Ram replies, apparently content to play along. They have reached the end of the table, only a few feet of space between them now that there aren't any more dinner plates and bowls to be found. She takes another drag of her cigarette, seeming taller in her heels than what Peregrine had previously approximated, and then taps the ashes into a little dish that appears with the keen eyes of a peculiarly flustered waiter, as though the poor man has spent the best part of the evening chasing her around.

She's probably not meant to smoke in here, but she clearly doesn't care.

Munching through one of the aforementioned skewers, Peregrine decides that they like this Ram - even if she is a noble.

- zl -

The box is delivered at night. Purple twilight simmers like a concoction of unknown seas over the horizon, and the Thousand Sunny bobs unknowingly into a hazy autumn sky. The crew are preparing for bed, a hearty dinner some hours behind them now, and though the day has been a dull day of sailing endlessly on, Luffy has far too much energy to consider sleeping. Much to the exasperation of the crew, they have taken to bouncing and swinging around the ship as the night draws in, and as such, they are the only one to notice when the box spirals down from the sky.

It lands softly on the grassy deck, hardly making a thud or a crack despite plummeting from high out of sight. Luffy squawks at its appearance and flings themself down from the rigging to investigate. Their flip-flops smack against the deck where the strange parcel did not. Luffy picks it up, welcoming of traps. Depressingly, the parcel doesn't explode or shoot poison darts from its corners, and the captain pouts as they turn it over in their hands. Just like its apparently mundane function, the box is boring to look at. It is simply black on all sides with no apparent locking mechanism or lid, no labels to inform of the contents nor even a maker’s signature on the base (what Luffy assumes to be the base, anyway) and it would be discreet for a box almost the size of their head, were it not completely indiscreet in its peculiarity and arrival at sea.

“Huh,” Luffy says, throwing and catching it a few times. It's weight is nothing special so it probably doesn't contain gold or gems or riches galore, but it's the possibility of something else that intrigues them, and bids them to scramble in search of their crew.

“Hey, hey guys! Something awesome’s just fallen out of the sky!”

Usopp is the first to stick his head out of the boy’s dorm, and Luffy snickers at his bleary stare, thrusting the box under his nose.

“Look, look! Whatcha think it is?”

The sniper blinks, eyes nearly crossing as the captain waggles the parcel before him. Above his raven head of curls, Brook appears in the doorway next, and he tinkers a note of curiosity as one skeletal hand reaches to inspect the box before Usopp can struggle through a reply.

“What is it?” Chopper asks, peering up from where he is half-hidden beside Usopp’s leg. He has foregone his hat for sleep, and Luffy laughs as they ruffle the fur usually squashed beneath the doctor’s hat.

“Dunno!” they reply, rocking back on their heels. “It landed on the deck.”

“And it didn't break, bro?” Franky calls from inside, and Brook turns to present those within the room with the curious and faultless box.

“D’you think Robin’ll know what it is?” Usopp asks, eyeing the object nervously. As ever, he looks to Luffy for reassurance, but not even his reluctance could deter Luffy from discovering what's inside.

“What if it's dangerous?” Chopper squeaks.

“We should take caution before opening it,” Jinbe recommends, taking the box to study it himself. “We should attempt it outside, perhaps, lest its contents cause damage to the ship’s interior.”

“Or maybe we should just not open it at all,” Usopp wails, before quite effortlessly being ignored by the captain whirling around and hallooing across the deck for the rest of their nakama.

They all decide to draw lots. Voting used to be the go-to method of making decisions, but after years of the maybe-this-is-a-bad-idea camp being outvoted by the crew’s bias towards their captain (as Luffy, after all, is always for adventurous, bad ideas), drawing lots seemed like the fairer option. Nobody’s opinions can influence the decision, and whatever fate may decide for them, it has to be obeyed.

(This has gotten them all into trouble more often than out, but maybe that's just the way the world works for the future Pirate King and their crew).

“Pick a stick, Luffy,” Nami says, shoving a handful of chopsticks under the captain’s nose. The ends clutched within her fist differ in colour, and the navigator motions at Luffy to hurry up, pulling her dressing gown tighter across her shoulders. Everybody is gathered around her in various states of undress, and the night rings with yawns that seem to contradict the bounding excitement of their captain as they struggle over what chopstick to choose.

(It's not that they're all bored - oh no. It's that they can all challenge the sky and the sea and the heavens itself in their sleep if they have to, if that's what their captain desires).

“White, we open it. Black, we don't.”

Luffy flips a stick over. A collective breath of laughter hits the sky. Palms and faces smack together. Usopp releases a drawn-out whine.

It's white.

With an entertained come on, Zoro takes the box right out of Jinbe’s gentle hands and drops it into Luffy’s, unfazed as ever as the crew laugh and despair at their captain’s cheer. Robin advises precautionary measures with that satisfied smirk of hers, and as Nami throws her hands to the sky and Usopp bumbles over himself in panic, it is Sanji who assesses the situation to ask:

“So… how does it open then?”

All eyes drop to stare at the hingeless, lockless box.

“Blow it up?” Franky suggests.

As expected, Nami has things to say about the finesse of this method. “What if there's something valuable inside? We need to do this carefully!” she shrieks, threatening the shipwright with her handful of chopsticks. They have all seen her take down men twice her size with less than that, so Franky is sensible to hold up his hands in surrender.

“Perhaps the mechanism is concealed,” Robin says.

Luffy doesn’t have the patience for that, and instead sinks their teeth into one of the box corners. Drool dopples down the side, their jaw grinding against the edge, and at once, the crew hasten away, forming a wary circle around their impatient king-to-be.

“What if it does actually explode?” Usopp whispers over the sound of chomping teeth and frustrated growls. Come on come on come on! Luffy chants, trying a different corner, and their crew exchange fondly exasperated glances about them even as Usopp looks seconds away from dropping into a dead faint.

“Eh, it'll serve them right,” Sanji replies, just as Luffy gives the box a vigorous shake.

Everybody immediately takes another step back.

“Could it be empty?” Brook ponders, yohohoing at the thought. “Maybe it’s merely a cube!”

“But that’s boring,” Luffy whines, face scrunching up as they level the box with a critical eye. “Things that fall out of the sky shouldn’t be boring!”

“I did not pass up a bath for a cube,” Nami adds, snatching a hand out to the slobbery box. “Pass it here, Luffy - wipe it first! Maybe it just needs a womanly touch.”

“As if,” Zoro laughs, subsequently proven correct when the navigator twists and claws and growls at the box, only for it to remain stubbornly sealed. The prospect of the cube being just that is mounting, and the interest of the crew begins to wane as dark clouds draw together overhead. Chopper yawns. Sanji shifts his weight with a sigh. Even Usopp has relaxed, prematurely encouraged by the parcel’s apparently harmless nature.

Zoro rolls his singular eye. Reaching for his katana, he sighs, “Give it here,” and by the time Nami has huffed and held up the box, relinquishing it at his grumpy command, Shusui has already clicked out of its sheath and sliced it from face-to-face.

“There,” the swordsman decides, unfazed by the anticlimactic lack of fanfare as he slides the blade back into his sheath. “Problem solved.”

“Barbarian,” Nami grumbles, unimpressed by the precision of the newly-carved ‘lid’. She detaches and chucks it away without a care, but whatever secrets the box contains successfully captures her attention as she peers inside. The interior is as smooth and as uniform as the exterior, except the faces are now a brilliant, clinical white in contrast to the black, and it seems like a peculiar choice of colours for a treasure chest, Luffy wonders, which must explain why Nami’s eyes have failed to reflect back the gold-green beli glow.

“What is it?” the crew ask as one. “What’s inside?”

To which Nami says, huh, before tipping the contents out at their feet.

- zl -

The night whirls on. Peregrine sticks with Ram for the lack of anything else to do, but Ram doesn’t appear to mind. They divulge very little of themselves to each other - the little about themselves that they know, at any least - preferring to maintain the anonymity that their masks enforce. Instead, their talk is idle chit-chat, compliments and complaints about the party and the love of food that they share. Peregrine learns nothing about Ram that they couldn’t guess - her ease in fine-dining, a chronic smoking habit, and an eye for all things beautiful and divine. In turn, Ram probably learns everything there is to know about Peregrine as they gobble plate after plate and laugh as the other guests seem to bubble and float with the champagne. Their laughter rises high and dangerous like the sandy waves of Alabasta, and their feet bumble over the peacock tails of dress-skirts and robes as Peregrine watches with glee.

A band plays on. Peregrine is neither interested in the music or the dance, but the twirling colours and flashes of gold and silver and pearls between breasts seem to catch Ram’s eye. Yet, for all her want, she lingers by the wall with Peregrine, accepting the ceaseless refills of wine that the waiters flourish before them, swapping her empty glasses for new ones and then resigning herself to drinking Peregrine’s too.

Perhaps there is only entertainment to be had when one is plastered.

Peregrine isn’t sure, but if Ram wants to drink until she finds the courage to dance, then they aren’t going to stop her. Ram isn’t their responsibility; Peregrine is here for something else, but truth be told, whatever that is keeps escaping them.

“Damn this,” Ram curses, thrusting a half-empty glass at a passerby. It’s not a waiter but she doesn’t seem to care, shoving the glass under the nose of the disgruntled guest until they have no choice but to take it from her.

Peregrine flashes the stranger a cheeky smile, teeth shining bright beneath the pointed end of their beak. A piece of chicken is wedged between their front teeth and it flops like a tongue at the fleeing back of the guest. Peregrine laughs, and Ram swats them around the head for the trouble.

“You shouldn’t scare the ladies like that.”

“But it’s fun!” Peregrine whines, wilting at Ram’s disapproval - the tilt of her head and the hand that settles on her hip. They grumble, dutifully picking out the chicken with their fingernail. “They probably deserve it anyway.”

“There’s no telling who this party has attracted,” Ram affirms. “That is both the grandeur and the danger. Look around. What do you see?”

Peregrine casts their gaze out to the dancefloor, the striking centrestage. Dozens of strangers weave about, pairs of animal-masked dancers gliding across the golden floor with eyes only for each other, some laughing in a genuine uproar but most smiling suppressed and faked, and their identities even more so. People of all ages and appearances, sizes and species sweep the ball, every single one of them a harlequin question, a friend or foe or maybe neither, it cannot be seen. Only the shape of their masks suggest who they could be, but even then, Peregrine doubts they would recognise somebody they knew.

As the music lulls into interlude, the deep notes of the cello the last to ease away like the tide slipping from the sand, the dancers bow and part. One woman lingers centrestage, her mask a bird of some form and her hair the cascading rain that revivifies this country from the desert drought. Gemstones and jewelry adorn her, and yet she seems demure in comparison to many of the guests, who smother themselves in their thriftless wealth. She is alone for only a moment, for then a man approaches and tips down his hat, the drop of the brim concealing his mask from view. Over one arm he has a walking stick and the other he extends towards her, a white glove accepting her wary greeting before he kisses the back of her hand.

“Err,” Peregrine says, only remembering Ram’s question when they hear her utter a curse. Were her gaze anymore ferocious, no doubt the top-hatted man would be a pile of ashes on the dancefloor. Peregrine would be happy to witness that if it meant a distraction from their boredom. “I guess that lady in the bird mask might be important? Dunno ‘bout that guy though. Why he’s got a walking stick if he ain’t using it?”

“Her mask is a swan,” Ram provides, sparing Peregrine a moment of disapproval. “A single glance is more than enough to infer her beauty, her grace, her finesse -”

“If you say so,” Peregrine says, their observations having ceased at the woman’s pretty blue hair. “She’s probably nobility.”

“With a shawl detailing the Royal Alabastian colours? Please. That can only be the Queen herself. Who else would be worthy of wearing the swan?”

Peregrine doesn't know enough about anybody to answer that question. “Why don’tcha go dance with her?”

Ram startles; she really is transparent. “Dance with her? I could - I could never. To ask a queen to waste her precious time on such a wilful request would be -”

Peregrine discards their plate on a table, letting the meatballs roll away. Oh no, Ram breathes, repeating it with a rising intonation of panic as Peregrine snatches her hand and drags her over. They march straight through the crowd as the music begins again, the short, breathless notes of the violin like Ram’s futile flustering and spluttering of oh gods, oh shit, oh hell god no -

“Hey,” Peregrine says, shoving Ram into the conversation. Swan and her associate leap apart as she tumbles between them, but whereas Swan squawks and rushes to steady Ram in her stiletto heels, the man reaches instead to his walking-stick, lest it slip from his forearm and clatter to the ground.

Peregrine raises a hand in greeting, and over Ram’s hurried apologies they say, “Ram’s too shy to ask you to dance.”

“God damn you,” Ram hisses at them, faltering at Swan’s delighted laughter. “I mean - I apologise, milady, I shouldn’t use such a disreputable tone -”

She lends down to kiss Swan’s hand as the top-hatted man had before, but then thinks better of it. This leaves her hovering awkwardly in a bow before the alleged Queen, to which Peregrine doesn't bother muffling their laughter.

“It’s quite all right. I would be welcoming of company for the next dance,” Swan reassures, sharing in the amusement. She coaxes Ram back up to full height, one that towers over Swan and Peregrine both. Peregrine especially, who is wearing a pair of flip-flops to complete their semi-formal sailor look.

Swan’s conversational partner doesn't appear to agree, standing stiff and unbalanced as though a statue can take offence. She seems quite content not to give him any mind.

Ram flusters, ignoring Peregrine’s thumbs up. “I don’t want to impose -”

“Don’t be silly. This is a party, isn’t it? We’re all friends here. And anyway,” Swan adds, dropping her voice once the man in the top hat resigns himself to second-best and disappears into the crowd. “I would much rather be dancing than talking politics all night.”

“If that man was bothering you -”

“No, no, it’s all right. Some men just like to hear themselves talk. Come on, the music is starting! Let’s not stand here and chit-chat. Are you joining us?”

“Eh, me?” Peregrine warbles a laugh, wanting to go but unsure of Ram’s opinion on the matter. They don't need anybody’s approval to do anything, but Ram seems the expert in party etiquette and blending in.

“Nah!” they say, deciding to explore this great hall instead. Something about the top-hatted man is bothering them, but they cannot put their finger on what. “I'm gonna go find dessert! D’you think there's chocolate cake - or a fountain? What if there's a chocolate cake fountain?”

Ram’s expression is pained. Swan laughs and loops her arm through the other woman’s, leading her into the enveloping crowd. Ram seems quite uncomfortable by the casualness of it, prepared to lower herself into subservience as she had been, but Swan’s happy countenance and the swing of the music encourage her to change her mind.

Peregrine ambles away from the dancefloor to look for something else to entertain them. To their disappointment, there isn’t a chocolate cake fountain to be found, and Peregrine tries to remember to tell Ram about it when she returns.

The music changes. A tall, skeletal-thin man carrying a violin totters up to the stage to join the band, and Peregrine laughs as he twirls a top hat from his extravagant hair. The band shuffle about, welcoming their new addition, and then as though the stranger has belonged to them all along, they soon begin to play again, all perfectly in time. The first notes of the song are familiar to Peregrine, although they cannot pinpoint the name, so they hop over to appreciate the melody with the unnecessary proximity of a child pressing their nose up to the sweet shop window. While nobody in the band is singing, Peregrine is sure that the song should be accompanied by lyrics. They feel as though they should know the words, just as they should know their name, whatever that used to be. But no matter how hard they wrack their brain, the memory escapes them.

Oh well, Peregrine thinks, scratching lightly across their cheek. Their forgetfulness doesn’t make the music any less enjoyable, and Peregrine hops closer still to the stage, near enough now to realise that the pale face of the violinist isn’t merely the ghostly white finish to their mask. Rather, the violinist has the sharp jaw and the grinning white teeth of a skull, because that’s what his face is, just as the hands that play the violin are ten fingers of bone.

“Hey mister skeleton!” Peregrine calls, cupping their hands around their mouth. “Are you on Strawhat’s crew?”

The violinist with the horse mask laughs, but the question does not deter him from playing. “My dear, tonight I am but a humble musician! But I am flattered you think me so capable!”

“Well if I was Strawhat, I’d have you on my crew,” Peregrine counters, and this seems to please the violinist if his yohoho-ing laugh is any indication, the sound ringing out like the missing words to the song.

“Should Strawhat ever approach me for a position, I will be sure to pass on your recommendation,” he says, and this time it’s Peregrine who laughs, folding their arms up behind their head.

For a moment, they are perplexed not to feel the scratch of a hat against their skin, but the thought passes with little consideration.

“How peculiar,” Robin observes, inspecting the black velvet padding and the ribbon-tie of the eye-mask, running her fingers along the unassuming silk. The mask is rounded, just large enough to cover the eyes and the bridge of the nose, but there is nothing particularly spectacular about it. Luffy had whined as the small pile fell out of the box, each mask just as simple and boring as the others, and now most of them remain undisturbed on the Sunny’s grassy deck. Robin is inspecting one, and Chopper has his face pressed up against another, the mask doing little to cover his nose and fur.

“I must say, I have never encountered this particular tradition before,” the archeologist continues, running her fingertips across the velvet. “I am sceptical whether I have a book on the subject, but I will check. The upper classes seldom divulge their secrets in ordinary print. If this is a royal tradition, then there may be little information about it.”

“It’s not one I’ve heard of, if it is,” Sanji admits, eyeing the masks with reservation. “I can’t imagine Vivi-san sending an invitation so impersonally.”

“To be fair, it is the middle of the night,” Usopp says.

“Not for Alabasta,” Nami counters, still frowning at the slip of parchment that had also fallen out of the box. It is a party invitation, as she had read aloud, but not just to any old party; to Vivi’s coronation and the royal ball - a royal masquerade ball - due to take place after she ascends the Alabastian throne. Luffy isn’t going to say no to a party, and they definitely aren’t going to turn down a chance to visit Vivi, even if their crew is hemming and hawing about the suspicious message.

As far as Luffy is concerned, the invite is from a nakama, so that doesn’t make it suspicious at all.

“It is unlikely that the invitation has come from the Crown Princess herself,” Jinbe reasons, Nami holding the note up for him to see. “This will be a standardised invitation for everybody on the guest list, organised by the royal staff.”

“You think the royal staff would invite us?” Franky asks, motioning to his electric blue hair to emphasise his incredulity. As ever, his hairdo defies both fashion and physics, and it would certainly make a statement against the stone tradition of the Alabastian palace walls.

Vivi would love it, Luffy knows.

“We did save their asses,” Zoro rumbles, smirking at the distant memory. There is a moment of laughter between those who share the memory, but then Zoro sobers the tone by adding: “Could still be a trap though.”

“I daresay pirates attending the royal coronation would be the least of the Princess’ worries if her staff are transpiring against her,” Brook agrees, a point that is vehemently denied by multiple members of the crew.

“They wouldn’t do that!” Chopper cries, shrill and loud over them all. “They were so nice to us!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Zoro argues, glowering in Sanji’s direction to preempt the cook blowing a fuse. “Although, come on, it could be possible. But a high-profile party is just asking for trouble, isn’t it? There’ll be noblemen and royalty everywhere. Someone could get hurt - or killed.”

“Or robbed,” Nami fancies, eyes bright with beli and gold.

“Maybe that’s why we’ve been sent the masks?” Usopp reasons, glancing at Robin for confirmation. “Aren’t masquerade balls all about not knowing who anyone is?”

“Yeah, like these are going to do much to hide who we are,” Sanji drawls, nudging a toe at the pile of eye-masks. “Brook’s a skeleton.”

There’s a round of good point from the crew. Brook laughs, fanning himself as though he is flustered or can even be flustered by Sanji’s observation, his skin-less body failing to blush at all.

“Chopper’s a reindeer,” Nami adds, shaking her head as though this is really the weirdest conversation they’ve ever had.

“Jinbe’s a nine-foot whale shark fishman,” Zoro says. “Who’s blue.”

There isn’t anything anybody can do to dispute that.

“Perhaps there are more to these masks than there seems,” Robin concedes, almost unheard over the sound of Luffy’s uproarious laughter. “I will have to investigate before we attend the party.”

Not once has anybody suggested that they don’t attend; it’s Vivi, attendance isn’t in question. It’s going to take them a while to reach Alabasta from the New World, but their hunt for the poneglyphs can wait for another day. Luffy has no doubt that they’ll arrive in time for the coronation, but if they don’t, then they’ll have twice the fun by crashing it instead.

“If we’re going to turn Sunny around, there’s no point waiting till the morning,” Franky says, to which Luffy hollers their agreement. At this irrefutable order, Nami sighs, folding the invitation and passing it into Jinbe’s possession. She disappears to retrieve her maps with a tired mutter of guess I’m missing that bath, Luffy’s cheering echoing far into the night.

Horse and the other members of the band entertain the guests with a few more songs before the clinking of metal and glass calls for attention across the hall. Peregrine thinks it’s a stupid way of silencing a ballroom full of people, but the lull of conversation and dance is so swift that Peregrine can only imagine that nobody has anything better to do. They laugh to themself, glad that they’re not the only person bored out of their mind, then plonk themself down on top of a table as the other guests shuffle away from the dancefloor. There’s hardly enough seating for everybody, especially considering that the guests are of all shapes and sizes, some human, some fishmen, and some even with glass-bowls around their heads like gigantic goldfish walking on two legs.

Peregrine steers clear of them.

Two women approach the centrestage, dressed like fancy penguins and only their masks to distinguish between them; their hair tied up in elaborate knots, one woman has a mask with the black and white plume of a magpie, and the other with a rounded, bird-like mask with bulbous eyes and fuzzy, white plumes, except Peregrine isn’t sure it’s a bird at all, but maybe a bug of some sort, perhaps a moth. Regardless of what the mask is supposed to be, they decide that it’s creepy, and although they cannot explain the cause of the thought, Peregrine doubts that Ram will be enjoying the sight.

Thinking of Ram prompts Peregrine to search for their wayward friend. They spot Swan first, her turquoise hair a beacon amidst the monochrome background of the other guests, Ram beside her with hair as bright as her dress is blue. Only Swan is seated, Ram an opalescent guard with horns and heels like knives. The other people at the table pay the duo little mind, but Peregrine’s eyes linger on each in turn, looking for somebody or something that they cannot name: first, the lady with the pink braid, then the shorter woman beside her, chestnut hair shaped in a bob and framing a merry face, and then on and on around the table to a man in a shirt as red as flame.

Peregrine looks away, inexplicably sad.

“Yohoho, I do believe this is a magic show,” chimes a familiar voice from Peregrine’s left. Peregrine turns just as Horse clatters over and folds himself into a chair, one of his pointy knees striking the table as he crosses his legs. His ringing laughter and body of bone draw worrisome glances from the other guests, but Horse pays the scrutiny no mind. Instead, he flicks off his top-hat and twirls it around his wrist, and Peregrine laughs at the trick, offering a smattering of applause.

Horse tips the hat into a bow. “My dear, save your applause for the show. I’m sure it will be quite a spectacle! Ah, hush hush, it’s about to begin.” He waggles a finger when Peregrine fails to smother their laughter, but this only serves to entertain Peregrine more. They feel as though they are being scolded by a well-meaning uncle or grandfather, especially as Horse’s soft insistences are scattered with laughter.

Then Moth throws her arms wide, sweeping the room with a flick and a flourish of her hands. Above her head, the chandeliers begin to flutter, the diamond light blinking brighter and dimmer as though a delicate creature is trapped in the flame. Peregrine tips their head back, captivated by the dance of the lights, the chandeliers unmoved but their glow pulsing as tidal waves at Moth’s command. As the light wavers, the gold of the room, too, wavers into shadow and deep, ruby rose. Horse’s skeletal body seems to bask in the varicoloured tones, but his and the many black suits of the guests blur into the darkness as the ballroom is overcome by the night. Peregrine coos along with the guests as the hall glistens with colour, silver details sparkling like Ram’s dress, bronze and golds burning from the riches of the room.

Peregrine can hardly perceive the other people in the room now, but the clip-clop of Moth’s boots are an ever-present tempo as she circles the centrestage. The chandeliers brighten once again, illuminating with a white-gold hue that could challenge the Alabastian sand, before the light appears to reach beyond the crystal confines and expands into balls of fire over the room. The light above them harsh now, the party-goers mutter as the spheres of light descend in procession and gather about Moth, their shadows shrinking and stretching to mirror the graceful parade. Peregrine reaches up as one bobs over their head, but while the ball is hot to the touch, almost scalding as it passes through their fingers, it has no definitive edges, nothing to hold it together at all.

“How beautiful,” Horse says, ducking out of another’s leisurely path. Laughter fills the ballroom as people try to catch the lights. Exclamations ring out as somebody claps their hands through one of the spheres and it shatters, thousands of light fragments spilling over the guests like fireflies from a cage. At once, other guests try to capture or shatter the lights, but Moth only laughs as her ethereal gathering is destroyed.

When only one remains, Moth plucks it from the air and rolls it about her hands, shaping it into something smaller and smaller still. She is the sole source of light now, the soft edges of her mask and the sharp lines of her suit warmed by the fire in her hands, and it is as though she is molding together a secret or summoning a spell to captivate them all.

Hush falls. Moth throws the light up as if launching a falcon into the air, and it whizzes up like a firework before exploding into a serpentine sea king that swoops over the shrieks and delight of the room.

Magpie flicks off her hat and presents it to the room. Above her, the sea king loops once, then twice, its claws and teeth spitting cinders of light across the centrestage. In the face of its ferocity, Magpie stands resolute, a warrior facing down a war. Twirling the hat once again, she bows to the sea king with a flourish of her tailcoat, and then she thrusts a hand into the hat and slides a sword from impossible depths, the blade glinting in the fire of its enemy.

The battle that commences is a dance that Magpie outlasts, victorious to the sound of applause as she fells the sea king with a final swoop. The sea king crashes to the stage at her feet and extinguishes, and at once, light returns to the chandeliers with a kaleidoscopic glow.

Moth and Magpie bow, but the show is far from over. They entertain the party with an endless array of tricks and feats, working in tandem as magicians hypnotising the awe of the crowd. Magpie’s bottomless hat never ceases to amaze, revealing knives and handkerchiefs, dice, rope, and even a gun, and Peregrine can only imagine what other things it can hold as Magpie plonks it onto her partner’s head and tugs it down, down, down from head to toe, wiggling the brim until there is nothing left of Moth but the hat on the floor.

Magpie picks it up and twirls it around, and Peregrine laughs so hard that they tumble off of the tabletop and straight into Horse’s lap.

“For our next trick,” Magpie announces, alone, magnificent, and the sole attention of the room. “I need a volunteer.”

Peregrine clambers back onto the table. They thrust their hand into the air, bouncing in place and calling me me pick me! Pick me! and Horse laughs as Magpie’s gaze sweeps around, compelled by the plea.

“The young sir in the bird mask, perhaps?” she cooes, gesturing to Peregrine as though there is any doubt in who exhibits the most enthusiasm. The other guests laugh as they whoop in glee, some shaking glass-bowl heads as Peregrine scrambles onto the stage.

“It’s a peregrine!” they clarify, rocking back on their heels before Magpie’s easy smile. “And it’s not sir, I’m a they.”

“My apologies,” Magpie says, offering one of her elegant bows. It seems sincere despite the grandeur, and Peregrine grins back. “Would the young Mx Peregrine like to choose an unlucky victim from the crowd?”

Peregrine hums. Ram would probably kill them, and she would for choosing Swan. Horse is far too nice to endanger, but that doesn’t leave Peregrine with many options. “Anyone?”

“Choose carefully; their life will be in your hands,” Magpie warns.

Peregrine taps their nose, pondering the crowd surrounding them. Their gaze is drawn to the table they vacated, where Horse and a group of jewellry-embellished people are sitting. Horse waves, bone-fingers clattering together, and Peregrine waves back. The red-shirted man from Ram and Swan’s table is a possibility, but Peregrine cannot locate their friends through the psychedelic colours of the crowd anymore. Accepting this as another lost cause, Peregrine scans the guests at large instead, searching for someone who captures their interest - someone as brash as Ram, as welcoming as Horse, or as gentle as Swan. Someone who Peregrine feels like they should know, but doesn’t, and yet trusts all the same, and they almost settle on the splendour of a woman in violet before a flash of gold entices their eye.

“Them,” Peregrine decides, pointing into the crowd. “They’ll do it.”

Magpie duplicates her gesture from earlier, motioning for the chosen guest in the crowd. “Are you willing to play?” she calls, but though Peregrine cannot pinpoint the reason, they know for a fact that the stranger is; knows it just as they know that Ram is a friend and that Horse is worthy of sailing alongside the Pirate King. It is an indescribable sensation, of knowing something with all of their heart but not-knowing it all the same. Peregrine knows that many things have gone missing during the night, but their gut believes that they’ll find them, whatever it is that they’ve lost.

The crowd parts for the not-really-a-volunteer. Peregrine’s soft inhalation is a gleeful approval of their choice, and their smile is bright enough to challenge the chandeliers, as enchanting as Moth’s beautiful show. The unlucky stranger does not smile back, but there is a smirk on their face and an assessing gaze behind their mask - a wolf’s wariness behind a wolf’s grey mask, rightly gauging for an enemy, a prey, or a friend. Peregrine only smiles at the sight, only yearns to smile at this man, and Wolf’s single eye rolls with an exasperation that has Peregrine swaying restlessly where they stand.

Wolf’s head tips, a quiet greeting as Magpie addresses the crowd. His mask is carved in silvers, a short snout and metallic ears protruding from his face. His own ears are hidden by tuffs of fur, but three hoops of gold hang from his left. Something in Peregrine twists at the sight, be it from confusion or appreciation they cannot tell, and they want to reach out and run their fingers through the gold, hear the earrings chime together and feel Wolf lean into the touch, listen to him sigh.

Peregrine knows this man, they are sure of it. Behind the wolf’s mask is a face of familiarity, but one that Peregrine cannot see. Yet there is more to identity than the puzzle of eyes over nose and mouth creasing with brows; there is Wolf’s steady posture, arms folded over a sharp suit, no tie, collar popped open and skin a dark scar underneath. There are the choppy strands of his hair tamed back so unlike the wolf’s shaggy fur, a ridiculous pea green that complements his silver mask but contrasts everything else - the gold earrings, the black of his suit, and his shit-eating smile as he catches Peregrine’s gaze.

The feathers spilling from Peregrine’s mask brush together as they rock back onto their flip-flops. They clasp their hands behind their back in the hope that this will quell the urge to reach out, to cling onto Wolf, to marvel at his hair and laugh at the disgruntled comment this will earn them. Wolf’s amusement only challenges Peregrine’s self-restraint; he laughs a rumbling baritone, quiet and reserved only for Peregrine’s ears, and their toes curl at the sound.

The lights dim as though Moth is there to command them. Magpie wheels a large box onto the stage, tailcoat whirling as she dances around it, clanging the sides, opening the many compartments and revealing the empty inside. At her beckon, Wolf rolls his gaze to the ceiling and grumbles you have to be joking, but at the crowd’s excited tittering and Peregrine’s laughter, he strides over to play his part in the game.

Peregrine follows with a gleeful bounce and the chandeliers detonate into a smattering of white-light and glass. Tables and dinnerware explode into the crowd, silver platters and bubbling champagne splattering the high-arched walls. Somebody shoves Peregrine to the stage; the beak of their mask cracks against the floor. Face-down, the world disappears into an eruption of fire and smoke, the cold floor against Peregrine’s cheek and a warm hand forcing them still. Feathers tickle their neck, brushing their skin as softly as the blood that marrs their face. Fragments of glass jingle around them, the ballroom spitting diamonds onto the guests. Screams of terror ring out before the shrieking of pain, and chunks of the ceiling pop out of Peregrine’s skin as they struggle beneath Wolf’s body.

Moonlight leaks in through the shattered windows. Peregrine’s breathing is sharp, but Wolf’s is sharper as he hauls himself up, revealing both Peregrine and Magpie to the overturned room. People peel themselves away from the desolation, the shredded fabrics of their clothes littering the floor like psychedelic bloodstains. Some of the guests remain huddled where they have fallen, shell-shocked languages crying out in pain, but many are already scrambling for the doors.

If this is part of the trick, Peregrine thinks, then it’s pretty stupid to blow everything up.

“Get up. Get up,” Wolf hisses, yanking Peregrine’s to their feet. Magpie rises with more difficulty, heels clacking as she leans heavily into Wolf’s shoulder. Her shirt is caked in blood, and she wheezes a terrible sound as Wolf shoves her into taking cover behind a table. Peregrine follows with less of a wobble, a little battered but miraculously unscathed, only to freeze at the sight of Wolf tearing off his jacket, pressing Magpie’s bloodied torso with the arguably less-bloody side of cloth.

The extent of his injuries is difficult to discern, but Wolf seems more concerned about Magpie’s than his own. Her golden hair frames a pallid expression, and she screws her eyes shut as Wolf unbuttons her shirt, peeling the fabric away to focus pressure on the wound. She hisses at him in a language Peregrine doesn’t recognise, but if Wolf does, then he only grumbles back in Standard, snapping get a grip and lady, I’ve seen it all before.

Trusting that Magpie is in safe - albeit rough - hands, and that Wolf won’t bleed out while trying to help her, Peregrine ducks out from behind the table. They cannot sit idle while their friends are unaccounted for; the voices in the crowd are now a blur of wailing and fear, and the hall is a shattered remnant of its former grandeur. Midnight spills in through the windows, the chilling wind of the desert washing over the ballroom like a sea. Maneuvering should be a challenge with the splendour of the party now scattered in heaps across the floor, and yet Peregrine can navigate the rubble as a ship is guided by a lighthouse, the people cowering or fleeing about them appearing to glow. It is as though their bodies are made of fire, their auras like candles flickering iridescent and unique, and though Peregrine could not put into words what distinguishes Horse’s aura from all of the others, they recognise the ghostly wisps of icy blue.

“My dear, it is good to see you well,” Horses says as Peregrine bee-lines over. He has lost his hat and jacket, and his tie rests upon him askew. He does not appear harmed as Peregrine helps him up, but then he does not bleed or bruises as others do. “Although I have no eyes to see!”

“D’you know what happened?” Peregrine asks as yet another explosion rocks the hall, the buffet erupting into a blaze. They yank Horse down as cinders burst like fireworks over their heads, greasy smoke rolling across the stage and pouring out of the windows. Still the guests fight to escape, the mass of terrified pushing and shoving only heightening the frenzy of the room. Peregrine cannot see Ram or Swan amidst them, so they search for another way out as the glorified decorations continue to burn, fires feeding on the fear in the air. Black smoke begins to clog the room, and Peregrine considers the crumbling ceiling and the far windows, wondering if they’ll survive a leap into the city below.

Horse might - but then, he might already be dead.

“Come on, come on,” Peregrine says, dragging Horse to his feet once again. “The fire - we gotta go!”

They’ll suffocate long before they burn, but Peregrine’s panic rises as the smog descends, the fires spitting white and the smoke charring the golden room to black. Horse wobbles upright, and though his hair is tinged at the edges and the ballroom is an overturned, gory mess, he seems to find the time for humour as he pats the flames from his head. He allows Peregrine to lead him over glass and blood, crockery and plaster cracking under their feet. Chunks of the ceiling clatter down about them, century-old paint peeling away from the walls. The grand piano in the corner twangs with every snap of flame, its pearlescent keys scattered like bones.

Ram and Swan are nowhere to be seen - hopefully safe, hopefully together - but Wolf is where Peregrine left him, hunched down by a table beneath a spluttering candelier. He is without his dress shirt now, and his only remaining piece of clothing, a vest almost true to his skin in colour, offers nothing for protection. Peregrine can see that his shoulders and back are torn open by a cluster of bubbling, black-red burns. They wince at the sight but urge Wolf to his feet anyway, mindful not to prod the blisters or dig their fingers into any of the wounds.

“I can’t find my friends, so they’ve gotta be outside,” Peregrine explains in a single breath, Wolf yanking himself out of their grasp. They can only hope that Ram and Swan have fled the palace, crowded amidst the panic and a possible assassin, but away from explosions, smoke, and flame, and there’s only one way to be sure. They gesture to Magpie, breathing shallowly. “Bring her.”

Wolf’s shirt and jacket are tied around her waist, blood still seeping through. She falls bonelessly against Wolf as he scoops her up, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It must hurt him to do so, but beyond a quiet hiss and a twitch of his head, earrings jingling, he doesn’t make a sound.

- zl -

Alabasta is weeks away. We’ll make it, Nami assures, log pose whirling unheeded at her wrist. It has been some time since she allowed the islands’ magnetic fields to guide her, instead listening only to her captain’s will to plot their course, the sea and the winds be damned. Despite how far the kingdom of sand may be, it is neither out of their way nor off of their course; the poneglyphs will be found when they’re found, and Robin will be the first to find them.

“I still think we should’ve just taken Vivi with us when we wanted to,” Zoro says as the late morning blue spills in through the porthole, arms folded behind his head. His feet hang from either side of the hammock, one tangled in the next bed over and the other swinging slowly, rocking the hammock as though Luffy’s incessant wiggling isn’t rocking it enough. They are the only two in the sleeping quarters, which is why Zoro has voiced this opinion, grumbling it to the secrecy of his partner’s ears.

“She wanted to stay in Alabasta, too,” Luffy argues; too, because Vivi wanted to travel with them as well, her heart split between duty and joy. They laugh at the sour scrunch to Zoro’s expression and lean down to kiss it, planting a soppy smile into Zoro’s jaw. His face twists further, but he doesn’t shove Luffy and their frank affection away. Sometimes he does, overwhelmed by the sensation of skin-on-skin, of lips against his own, against his stomach, breasts, up to his chin, his nose, his forehead, against anywhere and everywhere that Luffy wants to admire, but Luffy doesn’t mind. They’d rather Zoro voice any objections as Luffy is forthright in voicing their own.

“We can bring her back with us,” Zoro says, considering this almost preposterous idea with the same gravity that he considers everything. He oofs as Luffy wiggles in his lap, sprawled atop his haramaki as though it’s their personal pillow, and adds with a glower, “No one’ll stop us ‘cause she’s the Queen.”

Luffy throws their head back and laughs, almost toppling from the hammock. “As long as she throws us a feast first! D’you think there’ll be a chocolate fountain? Or cake? Or a chocolate cake fountain? That’ll be awesome! Are they even real? D’you think she could make one if they’re not?”

Zoro scoffs. “She’s the Queen. She can do anything.”

“I'm gonna have a chocolate cake fountain when I'm the Pirate King,” Luffy decides, mouth salivating at the thought. They smack their lips together, sucking them in, and the imaginary taste of fudge and caramel has their stomach growling. They wonder if Sanji is finished with breakfast yet; they were all up late this morning after last night’s mysterious delivery, even Sanji, who usually slides out of bed at dawn. The sticky scent of batter is what woke Luffy some time later, the decks of the Sunny light and sweet as Sanji fries pancakes to atone for the delay. Luffy can smell the pancakes now, and they grin as somebody knocks on the trapdoor above, a call for breakfast right on cue.

“Oi shitheads, there’s food,” comes Sanji’s voice, the heels of her boots clacking against the deck. “You come into my kitchen wearing something decent or you don’t come in at all.”

“No shoes, no shirt, no service,” Zoro grumbles, mimicking her tone. There is only fondness in his expression, however, and he taps a knee against Luffy’s thigh. “Budge. I’m hungry.”

Luffy snickers as they drop out of the hammock, bouncing once then twice across the floor as they search for their flip-flops. Zoro follows with a slow plod, hand shoved beneath his haramaki to scratch his stomach. He yanks the vest he was wearing yesterday over his binder and then throws a glance at the coat draped over his bed, deciding against it. Laundry must be due soon, and Luffy whines, hoping that it isn’t their turn.

When they become the Pirate King, they’re going to have a chocolate cake fountain and exemption from chores.

Breakfast is its typical affair. Ten is a squeeze that they are well-adjusted to, but Franky still hems and haws over extending the table. If they recruit anybody else, then they may have to consider taking meals onto the deck. As far as Luffy is concerned, there aren’t any positions left in the crew to fill, but that hadn’t stopped them from chasing Jinbe halfway around the world until he agreed.

“No swords at the table,” Sanji snaps, clicking her fingers at Zoro before he can settle. They squabble in routine, Zoro cursing the order as Sanji sets a plate down before him, a stack of golden pancakes toppling under the weight of the syrup dripping down the sides. Sanji kicks his chair as she passes, sidestepping him innocently as he careens from the table, and they bicker over everyone’s heads as Zoro sulks across the room to lay his katana beside Brook’s cane.

“You too, longnose,” Sanji says then, motioning for the tools and scrap-metal scattered before Usopp. The sniper sighs but relents his belongings with little fanfare, swapping the equipment for a plate and steaming cup of tea. Satisfied, Sanji clicks her fingers once again and gestures back towards his seat, and though Zoro waits until her back is turned to flip her off, Luffy’s choking laughter gives him away.

Breakfast begins with an appreciative silence, slurping lips and clattering cutlery the only sounds to be heard. Luffy filches bacon and blueberries from his crew’s plates as per the norm, and as coffee cups are refilled and Franky tries - and fails - to battle Luffy away from his food, the room rouses with happy, sated noise. Brook enjoys his weight in tea and Chopper gobbles down what must be twice Jinbe’s weight in syrup, but fortunately for the well-being of the entire crew, Nami cuts off his supply before he reaches the peak of a sugar-high. She admonishes Sanji as she does, the cook attentive to the point of subservience and flustering at the reproach, but Chopper’s expression is one of giddy satisfaction as he face-plants the table and groans, and Sanji smiles at the sound.

Nobody tells Robin to cut back on the coffee, but that’s because nobody wants to die a painful and most terrible death at her hands.

“Usopp and I are going to try and secure a transponder line to Alabasta,” Nami announces partway through the meal, once Luffy’s appetite has begun to wane. Usopp perks up at the declaration, squeaking we are? Err, sure, we are, as Nami levels with him a look. “We need to respond to the invitations, but I want to get ahold of Vivi first.”

“We have not seen a carrier falcon for some time,” Jinbe notes.

“Carrier birds aren’t very secure, are they?” Franky says, catching himself a microsecond before his automatic bro passes his lips. One of Jinbe’s cloud-like eyebrows rising suggests that Franky didn’t quite succeed, and Luffy snickers at the thought of Jinbe being a bro. “What dropped the box off?”

“It just fell out of the sky,” Luffy replies, thinking back to the night before. They remember hearing the box land onto the deck, but if the flap of wings had accompanied it, then they don’t recall. Nami would have blown a fuse if they had paid a carrier falcon without consulting her first. “It was dark, I didn’t see a bird or anything.”

“Perhaps a Devil Fruit?” Brook suggests, sipping his tea. Water vapour has condensed onto his chin, leaving his skull shiny and warm. He doesn’t appear to notice that he’s dripping onto the tablecloth.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Sanji contests, gaze flicking to Nami for confirmation. She nods, but the evidence of their solidarity is the open ocean all about them, the blue skies and the waveless waters. “We would’ve noticed someone approach.”

“A long-distance ability?” Usopp says, twirling a curl of his hair about a finger. It’s one of his many nervous habits, his hand itching to be busy, and he keeps glancing towards the counter where Sanji has confiscated his tools.

“We’d be talking a really long-distance ability,” Zoro says with a shake of his head. “Even Law’s has got a perimeter.”

“It might not be a Paramecia-type?”

Zoro shoots him down again. “No one stuck up on us, so it probably isn’t a Logia or a Zoan.”

“That doesn’t leave us with many options, bro,” Franky notes, and the crew hum as one, stumped by the appearance of the invitation. Zoro merely shrugs; just stating the facts, he seems to say, unenthused by this dilemma. Luffy, too, doesn’t particularly care how the box of masks came to be, only that they’re here now and that Vivi and an epic party are waiting for them at Alabasta.

“I will investigate the matter,” Robin promises, closing the debate for another time. The crew hem and haw their agreement, defaulting to her knowledge and accepting that she will discover all she can. With this temporary solution in place, breakfast draws to a close and the crew seperate to fulfill afternoon duties or leisure. Mercifully, it is not Luffy’s turn on the laundry roster, but they laugh when they see that it’s Zoro’s, who groans as he secures his katana back into place.

(Who knows - maybe swords are exactly what laundry duty needs).

“Oi, oi you lot. If it ain’t in the laundry baskets in five minutes, I ain’t cleaning it,” Zoro declares. The gallery quietens for a moment, a collective, comprehending silence falling over the bustling crew, and then there is a mad rush of squawks and flailing limbs as everyone dives to round-up any wayward clothes. Some crewmembers scramble more gracefully than others, but the end result of Zoro, Luffy, and the ever-elegant Robin as all who remain in the kitchen is the same.

“I dunno why you’re laughing,” Zoro says, raising an eyebrow at Luffy. “I saw your shorts on the sofa.”

This doesn’t dampen Luffy’s mood in the slightest. “But I know you’ll pick them up for me!” they reply, to which Zoro sighs, helpless but to accept this as fact, and Luffy bounces over and kisses him on the jaw.

- zl -

Beyond the ballroom, through the burning, golden hallways and down the palace steps of stone, the guests flee in hoards, waves of colour and wealth crashing into the sandy city. Spear-wielding soldiers in armour herd the panicked people away from the palace, shouting orders to each other in dialects as coarse as the Alabastian land. Smoke blooms up into the moonlit night, dark clouds masking the blink of the stars, and Peregrine tilts their head back to watch the rising fumes. The sky is one they do not recognise, and the horizon peeking over the cityscape is one they have never reached. Maybe the sun will burn away this cage of clouds, the bright tomorrow rising to reveal the identity that Peregrine has lost.

“Goodness, this is an unexpected turn,” Horse says, muffled by the hand at his mouth as though he has the lungs to breathe in the smoke. He squints at the desolated palace and then at the soldiers that rush to extinguish the fire - at least, Peregrine thinks he squints - before fanning himself as they linger in the glow of the flames.

Wolf shoves Magpie into the arms of a passing soldier, relinquishing his burden without a second’s thought. Then, to Peregrine’s delight, he gravitates back to where Peregrine and Horse are squat, arms crossed over his almost-bare chest as though he could be cold as the palace burns.

“You are hurt, my dear,” Horse notes, but Wolf just shrugs, ashes tumbling from his sea-green head.

“And you’re a talking skeleton,” he replies in the same tone, lifting his chin as though challenging Horse’s observation - or his concern, or perhaps even his very existence.

“Am I?” Horse cries, boggling at his hands. “Oh my, I am! Goodness, why did nobody see fit to inform me?”

Wolf sighs, impassive in the face of the humour, but Peregrine and Horse fall over themselves with laughter.

“I wonder how I came to be this way,” Horse muses, wiping impossible tears from his high-cut cheekbones. He turns his hands over again, solemn this time as he clacks his fingers together.

“You must've eaten a Devil Fruit,” Wolf grumbles, apparently not sharing in the mystery.

“I wish I'd eaten a Devil Fruit,” Peregrine says. “How cool would that be? I could make myself really big or turn into a monkey or something!”

Wolf’s incredulous, why would you want to be a monkey, is drowned out by the roar of a voice over the crowd of panicked guests and soldiers that order from lungs of cinders and smoke. The man that accompanies the shout is built, almost literally, like a tank, his hair the electric blue of a body of metal and cogs, and Peregrine’s eyes dazzle at the man’s robotic arms. Beside this man, there is another, just as large and just as blue, and he tries to sooth the startled guests as their duo ease through the crowd.

Neither man is wearing a mask.

“Excuse me, excuse me. I'm looking for some kids - three of them. Hey, has anyone seen -?” the robotic man is saying, clanking towards the palace. People blink shell-shocked stares at him as they shuffle out of his way, and the other man - the fishman, for he can be nothing else - apologises as they go.

“Children, you say?” a guest replies, her voice elderly and light. Around her, other guests begin to mutter their interest, some looking out across the crowd. “I did not think there were children at the party.”

“Well they're adults,” the cyborg explains, rubbing his knobbled chin. “But you wouldn't believe it.”

The lady’s eyebrows rise thin and incredulous over her mask; she doesn't appear to believe that he's an adult, either. “Are you their father?” she presses, concern over-riding her frustration. She taps the knee of the guest at her side, speaking to the crowd at large. “I'm sure we can find them.”

The cyborg hesitates long enough for the fishman to cough. “Oh, err, yeah. Yeah!” He raises his voice again; the fishman covers his ears. “HEY, I’M A DAD AND I’M LOOKING FOR MY THREE NON-BINARY SONS. Can't miss ‘em really,” he adds in a mumble, “One of them is really grumpy and has three gold earrings, one eye and -”

Peregrine’s head snaps around. Wolf’s cry of hell no isn’t fast enough to prevent them from flinging themself into the air. “Hey! HEY MISTER. MISTER. OVER HERE. I THINK I’VE FOUND ONE OF YOUR KIDS! Wait, are you non-binary? That’s so cool - so am I! I use they pronouns, what do you use?”

“I am going to cut you in half,” Wolf snarls.

“With what?” Peregrine laughs, and Horse cries my goodness! as Wolf wrestles them to the ground. The timely arrival of the cyborg and the fishman barrelling through the crowd halt the scuffle, but Peregrine only continues to cackle as the cyborg hoists them up. Wolf shrugs away from the man’s gigantic hand to compose himself, but if the cyborg wished to grab him as well then he does not follow through, preferring instead to swamp Peregrine into a hug.

“Yo, where have you been, bro?” the cyborg calls, giving Peregrine a shake. “Nami’s going to go ballistic when she gets a hold of you. Where’s Sanji? Wasn’t she with you? And you -” He rounds on Horse, fire glinting off of his polished shoulders. Peregrine swings helplessly in his grasp, one of their flip-flops slipping free. The cyborg just sighs, levelling Horse with a look. “We should’ve known better than to trust you with these twits. Where’s Robin? What the hell happened in there?”

Horse blinks owlishly, tittering nervously. He glances towards Wolf, who shrugs, arms folded back over his chest. “I’m afraid you may be mistaken,” Horse begins, only for Peregrine to laugh over him uproariously and free.

“You’re funny! Who’re Nami and Sanji and Robin?” They grin at the cyborg’s befuddlement, enjoying the clumsy hug despite their own confusion. They don’t know anyone called Nami (or Sanji or Robin, they’re sure of it), but they slap the cyborg’s arm good-naturedly anyway, the feathers of their mask tickling his knobbled chin.

“What?” the man says, looking from Peregrine to Horse, then Wolf standing alone. He sets Peregrine onto their feet, his shiny, red hands patting them down for good measure. “This isn’t funny bro.”

“Sure it is. Your hair’s awesome. And your arms are made of metal! Can I have metal arms? Can you make my arms out of metal? That would be so cool! Why can’t I have a cool body? Horse is a skeleton - have you seen Horse? That’s Horse! And that’s Wolf! Isn’t he your son?”

“Oh dear,” sighs the fishman, composed beside the mounting panic of the cyborg. He rubs a spot on his forehead, the way his kimono shifts revealing a blazing sun tattoo on his chest. “Have you forgotten who I am as well?”

“You’re a fishman!” Peregrine replies, throwing their arms wide. Even still, hugging the fishman would be a challenge, but Peregrine does appreciate a challenge. “You’re so big! Your eyebrows look like clouds - I like ‘em. I’m Peregrine! Who’re you?”

Long-suffering is probably the answer he wants to give, but the fishman manages to restrain himself. “I am Jinbe -”

“From the Strawhat Pirates? YOU’RE FROM THE STRAWHAT PIRATES? Wait, mister, are you Franky? THAT’S SO COOL. YOUR CAPTAIN NEEDS TO GET HORSE ON HIS CREW.”

Horse offers a little wave, which Peregrine accompanies with a dazzling grin. Jinbe and Franky exchange a flabbergast glance, and Franky shrugs as though to say, well what’re we gonna do? Peregrine hopes this means that they’ll introduce their captain - the infamous Monkey D. Luffy, who must be at the party if two of his crew are battling the crowds in search of him - or their crewmates, or Franky’s kids, or Wolf, Peregrine remembers, whirling around to the only person yet to say anything.

“I am not related to this guy,” Wolf says, jerking his chin towards Franky. He does not appear to be addressing anybody directly, but rather trying to reassure himself on the matter. The effectiveness of this endeavour is questionable; Wolf’s word is questionable when he cannot even recall his own name. This doesn't mean that they all shouldn't take Franky’s claim without a pinch of salt, but Franky does have the superior memory, and more importantly, Peregrine doesn't think he's lying.

“Related or not, bro,” Franky replies, which does seem contradictory. He has shrugged off his flower-print shirt and now dangles it in front of Wolf’s scowl. “Put the shirt on. You'll thank me once you remember.”

Wolf’s jaw clinks but he snatches the shirt. It's humongous on him, draping almost to his knees, but he shoves the excess fabric into his trousers and leaves the top buttons popped open, the collar folding down like a neck-scarf. He grumbles a thanks and doesn't look Franky in the eye, but as he slips his hands into his pockets instead of re-crossing his arms, he seems more comfortable now that his binder is hidden from view.

Peregrine smiles and beyond Wolf, a man in a top hat catches their eye. It's the one from before who was talking to Swan, gloves and cane and all, and Peregrine watches him weave through the soldiers with his hat pulled low over his eyes, the beak of his owl mask burning bronze in the palace fire. They don't appear to be doing anything suspicious, but Peregrine finds themself tracking the man’s hasty stride anyway, watching the deep, coppery aura about him as it churns.

Owls are smart right, Peregrine thinks, wondering if he'll know where Swan and Ram are. They race after the owl-masked man, ignoring the startled calls of Peregrine! and wait, Luff -! from the others. They are not sure what drives them to follow, but during this night of anonymity and memories-lost, Peregrine has to trust their gut. And their gut is urging them to chase Owl down and find out what he knows.

“Hey. HEY YOU. OWL GUY.”

Owl cranes his head around. His eyes appear impossibly large behind his mask, as though they can see through the blaze and the smog and the animals that have stolen everyone's names tonight. Peregrine calls again, pointing accusingly with a flap of their arm, and Owl ducks his head back down before fleeing into the crowd. Peregrine reaches up to ensure that their hat is secure - except they are not wearing a hat, they remember too late, fingers trailing a brim that doesn’t exist, and the lapse allows Owl to swoop into the city-streets and disappear.

“Gah, wait wait!” The shout is futile and Peregrine curses, stomping a sandaled foot. Exploring the city until they find Owl will be tedious, but as finding Owl might mean finding Ram and Swan, Peregrine braces themself for a long, tiring night through the stone and the sand of Alubarna.

“Come on, idiot! Are we catching this guy or not?” Wolf calls, shoving himself through the crowd to Peregrine’s side. Behind him, Horse’s skeletal figure is tottering over the kaleidoscopic crowns of the guests, and beyond him, Franky’s and Jinbe’s gigantic blue forms can be seen, but Peregrine’s eyes chase Wolf as he stalks past, his flowery shirt setting him apart from the crowd.

“You saw where he went?” they ask, already following Wolf as they crowd parts before him, women and men alike squawking as he shoulders through. The indignant shouts seem not to bother him - a man used to being avoided, being cursed at perhaps - and Peregrine laughs.

Wolf points into the dimly-lit streets, pace fast and sure. “That way. Who is he?”

“No idea! But I think he’ll know where my friends are, and I gotta find them!”

Peregrine is sure that Ram and Swan will be okay. Ram had an air of don’t fuck with me about her that Peregrine was instantly endeared to, and Swan spoke of politics and things that they can never hope to understand. She’ll be able to talk her way out of trouble as easily as Peregrine throws themself into it. Yet, this assurance doesn’t quell their need to locate them. They may have only known each other for a short period, but Ram and Swan are Peregrine’s friends, and though Peregrine has forgotten many things about themself, they know that anybody who messes with their friends deserves no mercy.

Two dozen streets, three dozen corners, and four fountains that look suspiciously similar later, Peregrine realises that there may be a catch to finding Owl. About them, the city is stirring to the chaos, the heads of sleeping civilians poking out of windows and children peering around doors, and Peregrine is certain that they’ve passed the same family three times already, the dog behind the gate bored of barking as Peregrine and Wolf run past.

“You do know where you’re going, right?” they ask, stumbling to a halt behind Wolf. In Wolf’s defence, the streets are the towering walls of a palace stronghold in the dark, a maze of weathered stone and copper-coloured roofs. But they are supposed to be following Owl, and as Wolf’s gaze swings between the cross-roads, left towards the fire, and right deeper into the city, Peregrine gets the impression that they’re well and truly lost.

“I’m not lost,” Wolf insists, the silver of his mask glinting in the waking city lights. The fire is smothering the moonlight, the blaze swallowing the clouds and the sky. Even the starlight cannot shine through the smog, Alabasta cast into shadow by flame.

Peregrine isn’t sure about that, and they say as such. “We’ve seen that fountain before.”

Wolf doesn’t even look at it, which goes to show that Peregrine is probably right. “No we haven’t. He’s around here somewhere.”

Peregrine highly doubts that as well. If they were Owl, trying to escape from the city whose palace is burning, then they would’ve headed straight for the sea. Regardless of whether this city has a river or a shore, they wouldn’t hide in a fountain at the centre of a plaza. That’s a stupid place to hide - what if they drowned?

“We could get the dog to help us,” Peregrine suggests, wishing that Wolf’s canine mask reflected his tracking abilities. There are probably tonnes of reasons why Wolf’s mask is as it is, but it would be cool if one of them was useful.

“Shut up!” Wolf growls, and if he really were a wolf, his hackles would be rising, his tail stiff and alert, his ears flattened down. “I’ll find ‘im. We don’t need the dog.”

“Yeah we do.”

“No we don’t. It’s this way.”

Peregrine rather imagines that it really, one hundred percent, absolutely isn’t, but they chase after Wolf anyway and nearly crash and somersault straight over him as he skids to a halt in the next street. His yell of I TOLD YOU deafens even Owl, who is hunched into a conversation with a figure shrouded by an alleyway. The masked strangers leap apart at Wolf’s victorious holler, but where Owl seems to fluster, bug-eyed at the sheer improbability of being found, his companion steps into the alley and vanishes from sight.

Peregrine doesn’t bother chasing that guy; it’s Owl they want and it’s Owl they catch, Wolf pouncing on him fists swinging and smile a mouthful of knives. He yanks Owl by the beak of his mask and tosses him into the dirt at Peregrine’s feet, smug as a cat that got the cream, and Peregrine, too, smiles as they crouch down to where Owl is sprawled.

“D’you know where my friends are?” they ask, considering Owl’s scuffs and gravel-bruised suit with disinterest. Wolf rolls Owl’s top-hat about his hands with a similar boredom, aware just as Peregrine is slowly becoming, watching Owl cower between them, that this man is hardly worth their time.

“How am I supposed to know who your friends are?” Owl asks in a wavering voice, edging himself away from Peregrine’s sandals. He’s certainly not the embodiment of the wise old owl that they hoped him to be, but he ran when chased and that’s more than enough for Peregrine to press for answers.

“Ram has big horns on top of her head, and Swan has long blue hair.”

“Maybe she’s related to that Franky-guy,” Wolf mutters.

“Nah, she’s the Queen,” Peregrine says, and though Wolf’s sputtering cry of she’s - WHAT almost distracts them, they don’t miss how Owl’s mouth twitches into a frown. “Aha! You knew that too! So she is the Queen. Is someone trying to hurt her? Is that why the room blew up? Are you trying to hurt her?”

“I didn’t blow anything up,” Owl claims. “I was hired by the Crown.”

“As a bodyguard?” Peregrine guesses, ignoring Wolf’s snort of as what - a coward? “Cool! That means you do know where my friends are. But why would they hire more bodyguards in when they’ve got so many soldiers already? Are you like - extra awesome?”

They offer a hand to Owl. He takes it after a moment’s hesitation, half-curled into himself, and though his skin is clammy and bruised from his scuffle with Wolf, his grasp is sure as he drags out a knife from the depths of his suit.

Peregrine punches him in the face, breaking mask and bone. The knife spins harmlessly away and they glance at it, wondering if they could have dodged it had it been a gun. Owl starts to wail so unlike his namesake, and Peregrine grins lopsidedly at Wolf’s disgruntled sigh.

“Should just kill ‘im,” he grumbles, as though offended by the sound.

“Nah,” Peregrine says, watching as Owl flails about in the dirt, clutching his shattered beak as blood spills over his hands. He looks stupid, nothing like the man that had unnerved Ram at the party, and Peregrine laughs. “This is way more fun don’tcha think?”

They drag Owl back to the central plaza - or Wolf does, heaving the squirming villain over his shoulder without so much as batting an eye, and Peregrine follows behind to maximise the time spent pulling ridiculous faces at Owl. By now, the soldiers have finished sectioning off the palace and are fighting the fire with everything they have, and the misplaced guests are huddled in their million-beli suits and gowns some distance away, blankets and water handed out between them. Their complaints can be heard even over the blaze, women whining over their ruined dresses and men demanding information and compensation, voices shouting in anger, calling for someone of authority to blame. Peregrine rolls their eyes and beelines towards Franky instead, hulking blue-haired and red-faced in an alleyway, out of sight from the unfortunate soldiers who have to deal with the guests. Jinbe and Horse are with him, conversing quietly, and Peregrine whoop-whoops! and waves a hand in greeting.

“Bro, you are in so much trouble” Franky says, voice like the warning thunder as he yanks Peregrine into the alley. Peregrine just laughs, wiggling out of his grasp to share their success in catching Owl, but before they can throw their arms wide and announce, hey look! Look who we found! a metal pole or a sledgehammer swings out of the gloom and cracks against their head, sending them careening into the dirt.

“What have you been doing?” cries a new voice, pitched high in outrage and lightning-sharp. Peregrine spits sand from their mouth and rolls over to blink at the crackling end of a staff. Oddly, they don’t feel any pain despite how it flickers and zaps with electricity, but the woman holding the other end of the staff has eyes of fire and the hair to match, and Peregrine laughs weakly. Jinbe lays a hand on her shoulder before she can strike again, gentle and wary despite his colossal size, and Wolf, too, bustles into the fray by throwing Owl onto the ground between Peregrine and the girl.

“He could do with a zap,” Wolf says, and the girl throws up her hands in defeat.

“Who’s this guy?” she screeches, leaning on her staff as though it isn’t sparking with a billion volts of electricity, as though it’s the only thing she can rely on anymore. Peregrine likes this woman already, even if her glare could combust another person at will.

“Dunno,” they reply, accepting Horse’s hand and jumping up from the floor. They dust themself down, shaking sand from their feathers. Owl watches nervously, well aware that there is nowhere to run, and Peregrine gestures accusingly. “But he knows where Ram and Swan are!”

“Ram and - oh my god.” The girl sighs heavily, eyes goggling from Peregrine to Jinbe. He shrugs helplessly at her, as done Franky at her other side, and her mouth nearly hits the floor. “They really don’t -?”

“It seems not,” Jinbe says, whatever that means. “Although, we have yet to inform them of their - ah - relationship to the crew.”

“Are you a Strawhat Pirate too?” Peregrine cries, bouncing in front of the girl. Her expression dissuades them from leaping for a hug, so instead they throw their head back and laugh. “This is so cool! I’m Peregrine! How d’we keep bumping into you guys? Were you invited to the party too? But why aren’t you wearing masks? Did you take them off? How’d you take them off? I didn’t think we could do that until the party was over!”

As expected, Peregrine’s mask fails to budge no matter how hard they yank it.

“You really don’t know who we are?” the girl asks, and it’s her soft incredulity, her wounded disbelief that gives Peregrine pause. Instead of blurting, you’re the Strawhat Pirates! they take a moment to consider her, tongue clamped between their teeth in concentration as they try to match her with a memory. She shares a glance with Jinbe as they do, torn between frustration and concern, and Peregrine’s eyes track the navy swirls of the tattoo curling over her shoulder.

“Tangerines!” they cry, pointing to the tattoo. The girl whirls around at the exclamation and Peregrine whoops, encouraged by her newfound flabbergast. “Those are tangerines, aren’t they? That does mean we know each other? Am I...?”

“Are you - what?” Franky probes, but Peregrine shake their head, the thought escaping them.

The girl drives the end of her staff into the ground. Almost forgotten at their feet, Owl yelps as a spark bites his nose, but the pirate doesn’t give him a second glance. “Well I’m Nami, all right? You need to trust me. You said this guy knows where your friends are? Let’s convene with the others, get some information out of this guy.”

“We still haven’t found Robin,” Franky says.

Nami’s jaws clacks. “All right. You two go and look for her. You idiots -” She motions to Peregrine and Wolf, and then huffs before including Horse as well. “Come on, we’re gonna go find Chopper.”

Set up just a block away from the palace, the temporary medical tent is pandemonium when they squeeze themselves in. Masked and bloody, Peregrine, Wolf, and Horse blend right in, but Nami uses the chaos to her advantage, gleaning information and the occasional wallet, bracelet, or watch as she weaves through the bustling staff and party guests. Peregrine snickers all the while, thoroughly impressed by her sleight of hand.

Chopper turns out to be the only racoon-dog doctor in the tent, his miniature form zipping precariously around the crowd. Someone had the foresight to allow him to work in the safety of a corner, tucked away where he is less likely to be tripped over. Nami certainly seems pleased by this as she ushers them all through the tent, Owl a mostly-unconscious deadweight slung over Wolf’s shoulder. On the downside, a busy medical tent doesn’t seem the type of place for a group of infamous pirates to assemble, but where Peregrine holds their tongue, trusting Nami as she had asked, Wolf is more forthcoming with his doubts.

“The hell’re we doing here?”

Nami clicks her tongue and makes a gesture as though to answer, but Chopper jerks up at the sound of conversation, bubble-gum pink hair nearly toppling from his head. His eyes are big and childish, and Peregrine grins as his little blue nose wrinkles, his expression morphing into shock.

“You’re wearing Franky’s shirt,” he breathes, frozen over a first aid kit. A roll of bandages drops from his hand - hoof - and bounces across his knees.

“Err, yeah,” Wolf says, with the tone of someone who doesn’t wish to be reminded. Chopper’s stupor seems to have unsettled him; he glances between Peregrine and the doctor, earrings ringing like a cry of S.O.S. “He didn’t give me much of a choice about it.”

“You should put Owl down,” Nami mutters, and Wolf turns to her with mounting confusion just as Chopper leaps to his feet, equipment scattering as he looms up and up and up, growing two, easily three times his size before emitting a shriek:

“The only reason you’d wear Franky’s shirt is if you were hurt!” he accuses, voice still deceptively high as he lunges at Wolf. Peregrine and Horse fall over themselves as they dive out of the way, but Wolf isn’t so lucky as the now-gigantic doctor scoops him off of his feet, Owl and all. “Where are you hurt? Sit down - sit down! You’re not getting out of here until I’ve checked you over! Don’t argue - don’t fight me Roronoa -”

Wolf and Chopper collapse into a roaring, floundering heap in the corner. Just a few feet away, Chopper’s patient stirs at the ruckus, and Peregrine bounds over upon recognising the tailcoat and blond hair of Magpie, the entertainer who acquired Wolf’s jacket back in the palace. She does not fully rouse at the commotion, but Nami snatches Peregrine’s wrist before they can shake the entertainer awake.

“Come on, let’s go,” she orders, motioning for somebody to retrieve Owl. Peregrine scrambles to do so, barely managing to avoid Wolf’s legs as he kicks out from underneath Chopper’s don’t-make-me-sit-on-you bellyflop. Chopper must be an amazing doctor to be a part of the Strawhat Pirates, so Peregrine doesn’t worry about leaving Wolf behind.

“Was the plan not to gather alongside your crew?” Horse asks as their group slips back out of the tent, now reduced to three - or four, should one count their hostage-slash-prisoner. Nami leads them back through the streets of Alubarna, away from the marketplace and the noise to the wider, subdued streets of the wealthier district. Here the apartments and houses are protected by gates and walls that tower tall and perfect over the path, miniature palaces in their own right. It is not the sort of place where pirates are welcome, but Nami’s walk is brisk and confident, and the flash of keys in her hand is gold from the streetlamp glow.

The apartment is cosier than Peregrine expected, well-lit in soft, sandy colours and trimmed in opal blues. By far, it is the most luxurious home they can recall, and they would wager than its value exceeds even their wildest guess. However, it is not the plush sofas, the stone counters, or the enormous, golden-framed artwork that draws their eye, but how the hundred-beli dinnerware is dotted about, and how clothes and belongings cover the surfaces, unfolded, untidy, and in all shapes in sizes. This is an apartment that is lived in, perhaps well-loved by many, and Peregrine considers the books and tools on the table before something across the room catches their eye.

A straw hat hangs from a hook by the door. Its edges are frayed and its brim flops shapeless against the wall. A ruby ribbon encompasses its width, a little burnt at the end and peppered with dirt. Beside the hat hangs a dark green coat - and beneath that, three swords are propped against the wall.

“Luffy,” Nami calls, her voice soft and careful, the gentle lull of the world stirring after the storm, and Peregrine turns their head to the sound. “Set him down over here.”

Peregrine pads over, the slap of their flip-flops like a drumbeat across the floor. They ease Owl onto the floor, the man grumbling in his semi-conscious state. Nami watches as one would watch someone attempting to disarm a bomb, waiting for them to explode in disbelief or excitement, but Peregrine’s chest swells with neither. Certainly, there is doubt at Nami’s proclamation - how can they be Strawhat Luffy, how could they have forgotten themself and their crew? - but what Peregrine feels instead is the same molten anger that has been bubbling all evening, a fierce, protective drive that has impelled them from the moment they became Peregrine and found themself alone.

If they are Strawhat Luffy, and if Wolf and Horse and Ram and Swan are not just their friends, but their crew, then the mastermind behind the palace attack - the person who has hurt and taken away Peregrine’s closest - has it coming.

A clatter of something within the depths of the apartment snaps Peregrine from their thoughts. Nami and Horse - Brook? - are still around them, equally startled by the sound. With a flick of her wrist, Nami has extended her staff, and with another, she has hushed Horse before his tittering laugh can give them all away. Thoroughly rebuked, Horse clamps a bony hand over his lip-less mouth to stop his teeth from chattering, and Peregrine smiles even as Nami begins to sneak across the apartment, her weapon gripped tightly.

When there is no further sound, she eases open a door and slips into the hallway. Peregrine bounces behind her, ready to lunge, fists swinging, at the first sign of danger. They don’t have a weapon like she does, but unlike how their hands have reached for a hat all evening, Peregrine is content to bend their fingers and brandish their knuckles into fists.

“Usopp?” Nami calls, nudging Peregrine to where a dim light spills out from under a door. “Is that you?”

The name rings familiar in Peregrine’s ears, and their mind flickers back to the tools in the front room just as the door creaks open, unbidden by Nami’s hand. Lamplight floods into the corridor, warm against the cold sweat across her brow. She jerks back, wary of an intruder or assault, so Peregrine ambles around her to investigate the new room - a study, furnished in cream and the golden spines of hundreds of books. It is a small room, not an ideal place to hide, which is probably why the woman in the armchair has done little to conceal herself, except for the rosette-spotted mask that stretches across her face. She is reclined quite leisurely in the chair, the deep violet of her ballgown neither creased nor snagged as she sits, and when she glances up from her book and beckons for them to enter, Peregrine wonders how she had the time to open the door and return to her seat with such grace. Then they turn, catching the sound of a muffled cry from the corner, and notice a curly-haired young man tucked into a gap between a desk and a bookshelf, a manicured, feminine hand protruding from the wall to slap over his mouth.

Usopp, Peregrine wonders, just as Nami groans, “Robin. Franky and Jinbe are looking for you.”

“The Iron Man and the Knight of the Sea,” Robin says, turning another page of the book. White gloves cover her hands - her real hands? - and extend all the way to her elbows. Unlike the white of her mask, the gloves aren’t painted in elaborate black-grey spots, but they add to the threatening air about her, like the deceptively silent paws of the snow leopard mask that she wears. “You must be the Cat Burglar. Do not worry yourself, I have not harmed your friend.”

She doesn’t provide an epithet for Peregrine, so they introduce themself. “I’m Peregrine! Kind of. I might be Luffy, but I dunno. Are you on the Strawhat Pirate crew too?”

“I believe so,” says Robin, gesturing one of her extra hands to the wall surrounding the door. The limb appears with a flurry of flower petals, pink and gentle as they scatter over the armchair, and Peregrine reaches out to shake it. Robin smiles as they do.

Nami sighs even as Peregrine exclaims at the posters covering the wall. “I should’ve known you’d figure it out,” she says to Robin, almost unheard over the sound of Peregrine’s wonder. Dozens of wanted posters are mounted around the door, all repeating the same handful of faces from different photographs, different times, with different bounties. Some of them are dated recently, but many are over two, even three years old. Peregrine recognises a few of the faces - Nami, Franky, Jinbe, Usopp, and even Chopper - which means whoever owns this apartment must be someone on the Strawhat crew, or somebody close enough to allow them to crash in it for a while. The remaining five posters don’t belong to faces that Peregrine remembers, but if what Nami claims is true, then they belong to guests of the party, whose identities have been temporarily misplaced. Horse must be Brook, the only top-hatted skeleton that Peregrine knows. Nico Robin is the same Robin in the leopard mask, who slips through the chaos as easily as her animal counterpart. That means Ram is Sanji, the cook with the mouth full of ashes and love. And Wolf, quiet, grumbling, gold-tinted Wolf, who followed Peregrine without question and drew them like a moth to flame, is Roronoa Zoro, whose swords await their swordsman by the door.

That leaves Peregrine and Monkey D. Luffy, and Nami’s you’ll need to trust me still ringing in their ears.

“Why have I forgotten?” Peregrine - Luffy? - asks. They turn back to the room, seeking answers from the two mask-less pirates and Robin, who seems to watch the world with a critical eye, untangling puzzles and revealing the truth, dark secrets, and things best buried and all.

Across the room, her extra limbs finally release Usopp from their clutch, and he wheezes as he scrambles up, disgruntled but unharmed. Robin doesn’t offer any apologies, but then Usopp doesn’t ask for any.

“My butt is so sore,” he whines, glowering a little. “You guys definitely knew who you were before you left for the party, so something must’ve happened then. Have the others forgotten too - Zoro, Sanji, and Brook? Where are they?”

“Brook’s in the front room,” Nami replies. “Zoro’s with Chopper -”

“What a surprise.”

“ - and we don’t know where Sanji is. Or Vivi. But at least you’re here, Robin.”

Robin inclines her head. “I imagine the masks play a part to our dilemma,” she says, pouring herself another cup of tea. A tray of assorted biscuits and a teapot rests on the coffee table, suggesting that she had the time to make herself comfortable in the apartment. “But perhaps an explanation can wait until we’ve dealt with our more unwelcome guest?”

“Owl.” Nami sighs with a gentle shake of her head, her exasperation mounting by the minute. “Good point. I hope Brook hasn’t serenaded him to death.”

She doesn’t sound particularly bothered by this prospect, and Robin laughs. “Extracting information will be a little tricky if he has.”

- zl -

As Alubarna is inaccessible by water, Franky docks the Sunny at Nanohana instead. The port town has scarcely changed since their last visit, and Chopper wrinkles his nose at the pungent scent of perfume that lingers over the town. Light conversation and laughter fills the streets, the busy afternoon sounds of the market rising up through the white-walled buildings and over the dome-topped roofs. Crocodile’s drought had impacted Nanohana little in comparison to the many other villages and towns across Alabasta, but the sight of the town prospering promises a plentiful and merry kingdom.

It does not take long to ready the crew for the journey to Alubarna. Extra precautions are taken for those that have not made the trek before - especially Franky, whose gleaming metal enhancements pose the risk of scorching in the desert heat. Sanji’s planning adopts a pedantic tone as he organises the food and water supplies, but nobody so much as bats an eyelash at the painstaking process of divvying up the luggage. Luffy doesn’t worry about the journey at all, but that’s because they have the best crew in the world, and nothing will go wrong that they all cannot fix together.

The next morning, they wish Sunny a brief farewell and promise to return with Vivi if possible, if only to finally introduce her to Merry’s worthy successor. They make the journey to the capital without any trouble, although Chopper has half a mind to shave off all his fur by the time they reach Alubarna’s impressive gates. Usopp manages to talk him out of it as on the last leg of their trek, navigating the tight streets and corners of the city. The bell tower tolls a welcome as they pass the plaza near the palace, and the crew take a moment to reminisce over Alubarna’s narrow escape from being blown off the map by the Baroque Work’s bomb.

Security is tight at the palace. Soldiers patrol across the courtyard, and the great staircase up to the main entrance is lined with statue-like guards. Someone must have forewarned the palace staff of their arrival, as from halfway up this staircase, before the crew have even resigned themselves to hauling their luggage up to the palace, a shout of their names rings out, a familiar voice accompanied by a blur of periwinkle blue as Vivi breaks away from the soldiers and launches herself into the cheering Strawhat crew. They fall into a heap as they catch her, Usopp tripping over Nami, sprawling into Sanji, poor Chopper squashed underneath and Luffy collapsing on top of them all, but Vivi lands safe and sound despite the chaos and the panicked squawking of her guard.

“Oh, I missed you all so much!” she cries, hugging any and all body parts within her reach. Those in the dogpile laugh as they are squashed together, sweaty and tired but returning hugs and kisses all the same, and those standing about them watch on with fondness, some excited to finally meet their fabled eleventh nakama.

“We didn’t miss the party, right?” Luffy asks, winding their arms thrice around her. No fair! Usopp cries as he scrambles to his feet, and other complaints rise up alongside his as the crew bemoan their captain’s selfishness. Vivi just laughs at them all, face flushed a delighted oceanic coral, but she is swift to reassure the grumbles and pouts with a promise to hug everybody in turn. Luffy just sticks their tongue out at their crew, enjoying their exasperated outrage.

“The coronation ceremony is tomorrow,” Vivi assures, wiggling herself free. “But we can talk about that later - how is everyone? You must be tired; once you’re settled, you have to tell me all about your adventures. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you - and I’ve not met some of you before!”

Introductions are made and even more hugs are shared. Robin hesitates, all too aware of their shared past, but Vivi springs over without any of the same reservations, and after only a few soft words and laughter, the two women seem to have made peace over their time in the Baroque Works.

“Come on Zoro,” Vivi says, holding out her arms for the final crewmember. “I know you missed me too.”

“Missing you was pointless,” Zoro grumbles, but he sweeps her off of her feet without further ado.

Vivi explains that they won’t be lodging in the palace, much to Luffy’s disappointment. Apologetic, she clarifies that accommodation is being provided within the city for the guests, and she drops her voice to complain about the strict security. I shouldn’t be here now, she admits, glancing at the guards as they fret about her, my father won’t be pleased. Luffy laughs off her apologies, excited to see where they will be staying for a few days, but Nami hums at the King’s concerns, Robin and Sanji sharing a meaningful glance behind the Queen-to-be.

“You think there’ll be trouble?” Zoro asks, blustering straight to the point with none of his nakamas’ subtly. Zoro, they sigh beneath the sound of Vivi’s laughter, but if Vivi is worried about the upcoming ceremony or the possibility of being hurt or assassinated, then she doesn’t reveal it in the open courtyard of the palace.

“I trust my people,” she says, smiling so to rival the high Alabastian sun. “This country has come a long way, and I am proud to be their Queen.”

- zl -

Owl continues to insist that he was hired by the Crown, but even the threat of Robin’s Devil Fruit doesn’t encourage him to explain exactly what for. He blabbers about the party, the guests, and wheezes useless information about the strange masks they all wear - information they already know, a confusing evening in limbo that Luffy, Brook, and Robin are experiencing first-hand. For all of the rubbish that Owl does spill, however, it is his genuine lack of concern over the missing identities of over a hundred people and his wide-eyed, panic-stricken fear of something else that reveals something of use to the Strawhats. The masks are inconvenient, posing questions with answers that their wearers cannot provide, but they are not the cause of Owl’s fear, the chaos at the party, and the flames that rage into Alabasta’s night. There is a higher power at work, a boss, maybe even an organisation, and Luffy bounces in place with excitement, rocking back into the fraying heels of their shoes. Whoever Owl is meant to be working for - the soldiers? The Crown? - doesn’t change that he was sharing secrets in the streets, whispering to a shadow hiding within Alubarna’s towering, golden-capped walls.

“You’re just going to kill me,” Owl spits, face pressed so far into the carpet that he is difficult to understand. Usopp lounges on top of him like a cat that got the cream, twirling his signature slingshot between his hands and chortling with every protest. Four of Robin’s extra hands also pin Owl in place, but Usopp seems content to bask in the glory for himself.

“Yohoho, what a terrifying reputation we have,” Brook says. “Do we make a habit of killing our hostages?”

“I wouldn’t really call him a hostage,” Nami mutters, but her tone doesn’t bode well for Owl either way. “I doubt anyone’s coming to look for him. He’s just a lackey, right? Just a weaselly traitor to the Crown.”

Owl makes an offended noise and Usopp bonks him with the slingshot. “Shut up, traitor.”

“It is likely that he was bribed to betray the Court,” Robin says, sipping her cup of tea. She had brought the teapot from the study with her, claiming it a necessary supplement to the interrogation. Owl’s face had proved her correct. “He seems the sort to forsake his loyalties for money.”

“That’s not true,” Owl snarls, only to earn another whack from the slingshot in reply.

“No? Then they offered you something else?” Robin guesses. “Or perhaps you went to them of your own accord? Maybe you are of value to them.”

“I am. They’ll come and get me, you’ll see.”

Robin’s mouth twitches into a smile. “We’re counting on it,” she says, one of her arms appearing in a flurry of petals to smack over Owl’s glower. Usopp laughs at the noise he makes, and Luffy throws their arms up, whooping at the prospect of kicking ass.

Nami just heaves a sigh. “Why doesn’t anything ever go to plan?”

“Plans are boring,” Luffy says, elongating the vowels. “How long d’you think it’ll take ‘em to get here? D’you think a whole group will come - that’ll be great! How do I normally fight - am I good at punching things? I gotta be good at punching things, right?”

“Luffy,” Nami says, sighing their name as though she can’t quite believe what she has to explain. She’s definitely ready for this night to be over. (Peregrine isn’t - they’re rather quite enjoying themself). “Of course you’re good at punching things, you’re -”

The lights flicker and fade, bleaching the cream and golden comforts of the apartment into monochrome, and then darkness. Usopp yelps, the glass of his goggles glinting in the moonlight, and Brook tumbles over the sofa with fright, yohohoing even as he crashes onto the floor. There is a sharp breath from the hallway towards the study, a muffled sound of pain almost unheard over Brook’s clattering, and Luffy launches themself across the living room to investigate - or tries to, leaping over just as Usopp pitches himself to his feet. They collide like cannonballs through a deck, flailing with a riotous sound over the table and into Nami, who squawks, hisses at them to get off, and then shoves them both away. Luffy throws an apology over their shoulder as they careen into the hallway, failing to guesstimate the size of the doorway with any accuracy and headbutting it instead, laughing, dizzy, as they stumble into the intruder on the other side, catching hold of a tailcoat as they trip over the floor.

A bullet or a pellet, perhaps, snaps through the doorway and explodes over Luffy’s head. The flare only lasts a second before it, too, is swallowed by a familiar Devil Fruit, but the light is enough to reveal two masked figures in the hallway, one with the fuzzy antennae of an insect, and the other, squashed beneath Luffy, with the black and white markings of a penguin - or a magpie.

“Hey, it’s you!”

Magpie groans that painful sound again. Luffy scrambles off of her, narrowly avoiding the rapier that swishes through the darkness as Moth lunges, heels clacking softly into the carpet as she chases them down the hallway. Luffy laughs all the while, relying on the blue of the moonlight and the firecracker snap of another of Usopp’s bullets to guide them. Nami’s voices rises up in panic from the living room, but Luffy cannot spare a moment to investigate as Magpie struggles onto her feet to join the fray. The first shot of her revolver embeds itself into the wall by Luffy’s ear, and the second swiftly follows, shattering plaster and brick into the hallway. Usopp yelps in the doorway, tumbling backwards to avoid the third and fourth shots, and Luffy ducks and rolls under Moth’s rapier, the unfamiliar apartment spinning around them in a blur of silver and black, ignited only by glint of weaponry in the gloom.

“You’re supposed to be in hospital! Did Chopper release you?” Luffy calls, unsure if Magpie can see their accusing finger but pointing at her all the same. Chopper probably didn’t sanction her release if her pained gasping is anything to go by, but it’s difficult to discern the extent of her injuries in the dark. The fact that she has fled the hospital and trekked across the city suggests that she isn’t on death’s doorstep - that is, until Luffy kicks her arse for breaking in.

The grinding ching of metal against metal and an echoing laugh of astonishment suggest that Brook has intercepted Moth - oh my, Brook cries, his voice clattering higher than anybody else’s, this cane really does contain a blade! Moth hisses something as their swords clash together, as Usopp fires another pellet, a burst of fire lighting up the hallway, revealing Brook’s body of bone and his ice-tinted blade, Moth’s rapier in silver and Magpie’s revolver in black, and finally Luffy’s blinding smile even as a bullet hits home, cracking from Magpie’s gun and into their cheek.

Getting shot, Luffy realises, as the bullet bounces out of their face and into a door frame, causing Usopp to scream and duck for a second time, doesn’t hurt at all.

They echo Magpie’s flabbergast noise as another bullet punches them in the shoulder, and then another in the chest, collar, and neck, only for their skin to pull and stretch and ping! every shot out in random directions, flinging the bullets through the wall, into the ceiling, and ricocheting across the floor. Magpie screeches as her gun clicks, the chamber empty but her bullets useless anyway, and Luffy lunges at her in the respite from gunfire and the bizarre elasticity of their body, her revolver spinning free and blond hair slapping across Luffy’s face as they crash from the dark hallway of the apartment, the chink of blade against blade, and distant voices raised in anger, through a doorway, head-over-heels, and into the bleached-white, temporary walls of the medical tent pitched by the palace across the city.

Magpie shoves Luffy away and bolts through the chaos, pushing through the throngs of nurses and patients. Luffy scrambles up, teetering into a nearby trolley as vertigo drags them down again. Dots flash in front of their eyes, head spinning from the onslaught of confused yelling and white, stark white everything about them; they have no idea how they got here, not when Brook and Nami and Usopp and Robin should only have been a step away, but there’s no time to dawdle. Magpie should be able to lead them straight to her boss, and if anybody will know where Sanji and Swan - who really must be the Queen - are, then it’s the guy responsible for taking them away in the first place.

“Luffy, Luffy, are you okay? What’s going on?” Chopper shrieks, appearing at their side. He pulls Luffy out from underneath the pile of equipment and the overturned trolley, gives them a shake in surprisingly large hands, and then sets them onto their feet.

Luffy has to tilt their head back to see the not-so-little doctor’s worried expression. “Whoa! You’re even bigger up close! What makes you get so big?”

Chopper emits another ear-splitting screech, hopping awkwardly on the spot. “Oh no, you’re afflicted with amnesia too? I thought it was just Zoro and - but no, it must be all of the guests! Oh my god, oh my god, what are we going to do? D’you know who I am? D’you know who you are? Oh my gosh did I just -?”

“You’re our doctor!” Luffy proclaims, throwing their arms wide as though they could possibly encompass Chopper’s gigantic body with their grasp. “Is Zoro still here? Didcha see which way the lady in the bird mask went? You guys gotta help me catch her!”

“She’s over there!” Chopper replies, pointing far over Luffy’s head. “She’s limping! Oh no, she must be hurt, she needs a - wait, that’s the lady from earlier! She’s my patient. I confined her to bed rest! She shouldn’t be out of bed, let alone running around! She could really hurt herself -”

Luffy grabs the end of Chopper’s jacket and spins him around, dashing off through the medical tent. “Then let’s go!” they call back over their shoulder, not waiting for Chopper to balance himself before dragging him along, laughing all the while as nurses and patients jump out of their way. Chopper is helpless but to stumble along behind, sputtering apologies where Luffy sees little point.

“Wait, we need to get Zoro!” Luffy recalls, skidding to a halt. Magpie is a blob of blond and black through the crowd, rapidly distancing herself from her pursuers, and Luffy flails, torn between returning for their crewmate and keeping her in their sights. If she manages to escape the medical tent, then they may never find her within the depths of the city. But there will be a greater chance of catching her if there are three of them doing the chasing, and Zoro managed to locate Owl just earlier that evening.

“Cut her off!” Luffy orders, sprinting back into the crowd. Chopper squeaks an agreement and runs in the other direction, his great footfalls heavy enough to shake the city around him. The masses of people in the tent remain well-clear of the pirates’ warpath, and so zipping back to where Chopper had wrestled Zoro to the ground is easy. It helps that Zoro’s grass-green hair is a beacon against the sea of medical whites and blues, and it helps even more than he is already arguing with a nurse to discharge him, lips pulled back in anger like the snarl of the wolf that he wears.

“Zoro!” Luffy hollers, the only warning they provide before colliding bodily and violently into the swordsman. Zoro manages to maintain his footing, built like a rock or a mountain that Luffy slams ungracefully into, but he does shove his hands into Luffy’s face and protest as they ramble into his ear: “Zoro, Zoro, Zoro, come on! We gotta catch up with Chopper and the bird lady!”

“Stop latching onto me!” he squawks, wrestling Luffy away as one would free themself from the suffocating suckers of an octopus. “I’m not Zoro!”

Luffy clings on tighter, feeling their body stretch beneath Zoro’s frantic scrabbling as it had stretched against Magpie’s bullets. “Ehh? Yes you are!”

“No - I’m - get off! I think I’d remember being Roronoa Zoro, of all people!”

“But I don’t remember being Luffy and -”

“Monkey D. Luffy? You?” Zoro howls with laughter, head thrown back so that his mask’s silvery fur tips down his neck. The three hooped earrings in his left ear clink together, a hint of his identity, a resemblance so almost the three golden bars from the wanted poster. His amusement causes Luffy to glower; there is no doubt in their mind that Wolf and Zoro are one and the same, that this man is someone important to them, crew, nakama, and maybe something more, and so they huff, smacking a hand over Zoro’s face to shut him up.

“You’re Zoro if I say you are!” Luffy announces, and Zoro punches them hard enough for their head to pitch backwards, neck bending and wobbling and extending twice, three times its natural length like a rubberband, the medical tent rushing past them as their head, their gaping mouth, and their gawking eyes snap back a solid five, six feet from their shoulders.

Luffy, Zoro, and the poor nurse stood frozen in the corner all scream.

“Oh wow!” Luffy cries over the sound of the nurse dropping into a dead faint. Their spine is flexible in a manner that it certainly shouldn’t be, and now weighted down by their overturned head, Luffy’s neck flops backward like a noodle and leaves their awestruck eyes and grinning mouth bouncing upside-down near their waist. “This is so awesome! Zoro, Zoro, do I look like spaghetti? D’you think my arms can do this too? Pull my arm, pull my arm!”

“Oh god,” Zoro breathes. He is holding the base of Luffy’s neck, or where the base of their neck used to be, cupping it as though he had tried to catch Luffy’s head and now doesn’t know what to make of the body elongating like an elasticated sausage in the palms of his hands.

Luffy laughs and lets their head bob in place for a few moments longer, enjoying the sound of Zoro’s mounting weirded-out-concern, before an idea strikes them. Were they a normal person, there would be little chance of reaching Chopper and Magpie now, but they are Monkey D. Luffy and their neck is currently as long as their body is tall, and that can only mean one thing.

They’re not spaghetti. They’re a rubber catapult.

“No,” Zoro says, despairing at the look on Luffy’s face as their head springs back into place. They are practically nose-to-nose now, the little beak on Luffy’s peregrine falcon mask clacking against the wolf’s snout. Zoro’s trepidation is apparent despite the mask’s obscurity. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Let me go, get off, get lost -”

Luffy stretches their arms out behind them, spitting saliva and laughter into Zoro’s face as his expression morphs from hesitancy to dawning horror. Zoro repeats his protests, wiggling with renewed vigour to free himself as Luffy’s legs coil around him, but Luffy doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt as they anchor themself on a something deep within the tent and hop backwards, nearly tripping over the unconscious nurse as they stretch and stretch and -

“Don’t you fucking -”

They rocket through the medical tent, shattering equipment and eliciting screams as they careen through the flap of the door and out into the street. Luffy bounces once, then twice, flip-flop scraping against the ground as it slams into sight beneath them. Their body wobbles unharmed around the punches of dirt, and unharmed even still as they clip the edge of a row of houses and hurtle away at an uncontrollable angle. Protecting Zoro’s less-rubbery body comes instinctively as they bounce, crash, and tumble to a halt some distance away, but he doesn’t appear to appreciate Luffy’s consideration as he wrenches himself free and face-plants the street, skin tinged almost as green as his hair. He groans curse after curse, slapping a hand over his mouth, nose, and scrubbing it up across his mask. Luffy bounces around him, mindful not to test Zoro’s temper any further, and their laughter rises and falls as they bob in a hazardous circle, eager to continue experimenting with the limits of their strange, elasticated body.

On the downside, they appear to have lost sight of Chopper and Magpie. Wondering if there is a way of contacting Chopper - or Nami, or any of the crew, really - Luffy taps their temple, tongue stuck between their teeth in thought. They have little hope of finding the apartment again, and returning to the medical tent would be counterproductive. Stumped, Luffy sighs and turns to where Zoro is finally rising on unsteady feet, just in time to see Magpie slink out of an alleyway and freeze, as Luffy does, like a deer caught in the headlights of fate’s questionable sense of humour.

“There she is!” Luffy hollers, forgetting about their decision not to manhandle Zoro in an instant. They grab his shoulders and yank him down the street to where Magpie is hunched over herself and swearing colourfully, the feathers of her mask shimmering as she swings her head wildly, gauging her chances at escape. Determined not to let her out of their sights this time, Luffy plants their foot in the ground and swivels, pitching Zoro down the street. Magpie hurls herself against a door and scrabbles to open it, and as she does, falls through it with a crazed desperation and a shriek of surprise as Zoro crashes into her, Luffy lets out a whoop of glee.

They bound over, assured that Zoro has made quick and reluctant work of trapping their target in the entrance hallway, only to find that the building they have both collapsed into isn’t an apartment, a house, or even a shop at all.

“The hell?” Zoro says, his fury forgotten in the shock of finding himself sprawled across the palace floor. It is certainly the palace, for nowhere else in the kingdom has hallways the size of the market streets and paintings of solemn, blue and gold adorned people mounted along the walls. Nowhere else has high-arching, marble-carved windows that gleam in the lights of the city below, either, with a view of a soldier-filled courtyard that can only belong to Alubarna’s royal home.

“The doors in this city are weird!” Luffy concludes, stepping from the street, over Magpie’s flailing legs from where she is trapped underneath Zoro, and across the hallway to smush their face up against the glass. It feels real, and it sounds real as their beak clacks against it, and Luffy breathes huh as they watch the patrols below. The courtyard still seems to be closed to the public, so Luffy tilts their head back to try and see as far above as possible, wondering if smoke and flame are still pouring into the sky. They can smell it, distantly, the thick smog of destruction and the crackle of fires consuming the ballroom, but they must be many floors and halls away not to taste the cinders in the air.

Luffy whirls around and squints at Magpie. “Is this where your boss is?”

Zoro, who seems to have forgotten not only his anger but that Magpie is squashed underneath him as well, starts at the question. His sole eye narrows as he looks from Luffy to Magpie, appraising the situation that he has been quite literally thrown into. It only takes him a matter of seconds before he is lounging across Magpie with purpose, feet kicked up over her shoulders to pin her to the ground.

“She works with Owl?”

“Uh-huh,” Luffy confirms, picking their nose idly. “The other lady too. They snuck into our apartment - although Robin did that too, and we didn’t mind. Usopp wasn’t very happy though!”

“You really are Strawhat Luffy then,” Zoro mumbles, more to himself than truly questioning Luffy themself. There isn’t much to question anymore, not with the particular method of transportation that has brought them here, inside of the palace in a heap after catapulting down the street. Magpie, too, can vouch for Luffy’s identity, since her bullets had proved useless against their superhuman skin.

Luffy nods anyway. “Yep! I don’t remember, but that’s what everyone’s been saying. Plus - I’m made of rubber! How cool is that?” They stretch their cheek to reveal a humongous, gummy smile before letting it ping! back into place.

“I can think of cooler Devil Fruits,” Zoro drawls. “A rubber body’s kinda dumb, isn’t it?”

The tips of Luffy’s ears burn at Zoro’s laughter. “It’s got loads of uses! I can punch a lot - and throw things - and bounce! What are you laughing for? It’s not dumb! You’re dumb! You’re a swordsman and you haven’t even got your swords!”

“Hey! Shut the hell up. I don’t need swords to fight.”

“Well neither do I!”

“You’re made of rubber,” Zoro argues, gesturing vaguely at Luffy. His face twists as though he still cannot believe his eyes - or eye, as there is only one able to glower behind the silver edges of his mask. “That gives you an advantage.”

“You said it was dumb!” Luffy accuses, causing Zoro to splutter.

“It is dumb! It’s a - it’s a dumb advantage.”

Luffy tips back their head and laughs. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“So are you! You’re so stupid you won’t even admit that you’re Roronoa Zoro! Your hair is green!”

“What?” Zoro exclaims, and he sounds so genuinely bemused that Luffy’s laughter catches in their throat, leaving them to goggle at one another in the ensuing silence. Luffy realises in a brilliant, hilarious moment of understanding that neither of them have had access to mirror all evening, and Zoro, too, seems to realise this, as his mouth parts, the corner of his top lip rising up to contort his expression into incredulity. “Are you serious?”

“Cactus-green,” Magpie supplies, lying forgotten and staining Zoro’s already-bloody trousers with more blood.

Zoro’s heavy fuck is a bombshell hitting the hallway. “Maybe I am Roronoa Zoro,” he contemplates, incredulity deepening as he scratches his neck and looks to Luffy. “Does that mean you’re my captain?”

“Yeah - I guess it does!” Luffy replies, eyes dazzling. “I’m the captain of the Strawhat Pirates, and you’re my swordsman! And that means - that means everyone else is on my crew, too! Come on, we have to find them. Which way d’you think Sanji and Vivi are?”

“Gotta be around here somewhere,” Zoro replies, digging his heel in Magpie’s shoulder. “She led us this far, didn’t she? Would make sense to stay in the palace; all the guests are gone, and why would anyone hide the Queen right under everyone’s noses?”

“There’s gonna be a tonne of rooms here though,” Luffy bemoans. “It’ll take ages. Robin’ll know what to do.”

“You wanna go back for them now? That’d be a waste of time.”

“The weird doorway’s still open.”

“Probably ‘cause she’s keeping it open. Probably hoping someone’ll come to help her,” Zoro argues, nudging Magpie again. “Hey, is it your Devil Fruit that’s mucking with the doors? You used it during the performance, didn’t you, with your hat?”

Magpie grumbles out a yes, but it is weaker now, her voice dampened by blood-loss. Chopper’s handiwork didn’t account for her escaping the medical tent and fighting off the Strawhat Pirates in an attempt to un-kidnap her associate, it seems. Her Devil Fruit will not function should she fall unconscious or die, so they cannot count on it as a means of re-entering the palace should they leave now to find Robin and the others.

Luffy slams a fist into their palm like a hammer. “We’ll just have to leave a message! Chopper can find it, and then he can tell the others that we’re here, in the palace. They can bring your swords too!”

“Or he could tell the soldiers,” Zoro suggests, but Luffy dismisses the idea with a laugh.

“Are you stupid? We’re pirates! And Sanji’s our cook! Why would they help us?”

“Their Queen has been kidnapped.” But even as Zoro says this, he is shaking his head, accepting the notion that Luffy will get their way - which they will, because they are the captain and the soldiers are dumb anyway. “Fine, fine. What sorta message were you thinking of?”

Luffy taps their chin and then looks from Magpie and out into the street of Alubarna glowing faintly through the door.

The upper floors of the palace are deserted, and someone has taken advantage of the evacuation to ransack the opalescent riches of the royal wings. Many of the rooms have been overturned, and furniture and clothes alike lay scattered in the aftermath of a thieving search. Drawers and cupboards hang open and empty of their fine silks and crockery, and more than one study has had its writing desks tipped over and bookcases pushed aside. Luffy and Zoro do not stop to inspect the damage, for they know that they will not find what they are looking for within the wreckage. Material things, no matter how costly, can be replaced. But the destruction is a sure sign that someone is in the palace while the guards patrol the streets below, looting while the guests and staff evacuate, and so they follow the trail of ruin through golden corridors and down winding flights of stairs.

“Ballroom must be that way,” Zoro says as they peer around a corner to spy a group of soldiers conversing at the other end. One guard stands apart from the rest, draped in a dark green cloak and a long tunic, where the majority of the guards are uniform in the softer colours and sharper angles of armour. A large sword sits at the man’s hip, and he rests one hand upon the hilt as though the presence of the royal guard are not enough to reassure him. His other hand points down the corridor, and the soldiers scurry at his command.

“Guess he’s in charge. Bet they’re shitting themselves over losing the Queen.” Zoro’s earrings jingle as he laughs, his amusement an unsympathetic sound.

“Vivi’s our friend,” Luffy reminds him, but they are hardly in a position to disapprove when this evening has been the most fun they can remember having in a long time. This may be a moot point with their missing memories, but they have enjoyed themself regardless, magic tricks, feasts, bombs, kidnappings and all.

Zoro huffs. “If you say so. Whoever’s taken her must’ve hidden her pretty well if this lot haven’t found her yet. We’re gonna have trouble avoiding all of the soldiers if you still want to hit up the ballroom. I still say we fight them. That guy’s not even using his sword.”

It’s practically begging me to take it, says the slant to Zoro’s mouth and the shrug of his shoulder.

“Nami’ll be mad if we get into trouble,” Luffy says, although they are tempted by the suggestion. Ploughing their way through the palace would be a simple and efficient means of reaching the ballroom, but it would turn the royal guard against them. “D’you think there’s another way in?”

“What - like a servants’ entrance? Could be. It’s probably guarded though.”

“So we’re gonna have to kick butt.”

Zoro’s grin is lopsided and houndish, as wryly as the look in his eye. “Guess so. Try that door.”

Luffy waits until the commander and his guards have turned away before stretching a hand across the hallway. Like a tightrope above an arena, their arm spans the width of the corridor as they fumble for the distant door-handle, fine motor skills with their elasticated body harder than expected to control. As the soldiers turn back around, Luffy retracts their arm and muffles the snap! of it back into place against their chest. The door creaks open a fraction but the guards fail to notice, and Luffy grins as the wait for the opportunity to move. Patience is not their forte and so they rock back onto their heels to ready themself, trusting Zoro to watch the guards from where he is leaned over Luffy’s shoulders with a critical eye.

At Zoro’s nudge, they dash across the hallway and in through the door, Luffy muffling their snickers all the while. Sneaking around is more fun than they thought it would be, although that isn’t to say they would pass up the opportunity for a brawl if the need arises.

It is once they reach a narrow, less grandeur corridor and a set of tight, interlocking rooms that can only belong to the staff and housekeepers of the palace that they realise they may have made a wrong turn. The walls are colder here, the air heavy and still, and they must have traveled further underground than expected with the steep, winding stairs. The ballroom, as Luffy remembers, was as wide as it was tall, with high arches and a wall of windows reflecting back the cornucopia of wealth. The sun itself seemed to shine in the ballroom, amber and hot over the dancefloor and the rich, Alabastian sand, but the rooms down here are lit only by lamplight and the roar of the kitchen fires cooking up a feast.

The kitchen is abandoned now, but ingredients and utensils and pots the size of Luffy’s appetite remain in preparation for the party. Unclean knives lay on chopping boards and soapy water fills the sink, and Luffy’s mouth waters as they squeeze past the counters and the industrial ovens. Despite its obvious use, the kitchen is spotless, and Luffy’s stomach growls at the prospect of making it slightly less so.

“This is pretty pricey stuff,” Zoro says, admiring a bottle of wine from the rack. He yanks out the cork with his teeth and takes a swig, humming thoughtfully at the taste. Four mouthfuls later he has downed the bottle, and then he shrugs as one might after resigning themself to a tepid cup of tea.

Luffy laughs around the block of cheese they have swiped from the fridge. There are stacks of food on every shelf, and even an entire fridge dedicated solely to milk. Taking a short, five minute snack break probably won’t do any harm, they reason, and the food will spoil if it isn’t eaten. It’s almost a shame to leave it all lying around the counters, and so Luffy chortles as they hop about the kitchen, grabbing anything and everything that isn’t raw and inedible.

By the time they have had a sample of almost everything in the kitchen and Zoro has begun rummaging around for something more to his taste to drink, a timer on one of the ovens goes off with a startling ding! A cheese-wheel spills out of Luffy’s arms and rolls off through the kitchen, and Zoro hits his head on the wine rack with a deafening THUD. Luffy chases after the cheese as the timer continues to ring, apples and ham-joints and all manner of food wobbling in their arms as they dash around the cupboards and crash into the woman who stalks in through the door.

“What are you doing?” Ram - Sanji - cries, steadying Luffy’s teetering mountain of food in one hand and scooping up the cheese wheel in the other. “When I said eat something decent, this is not what I meant, you idiot! Go and put that back where you found it! And you - alcoholic! I don’t care about your liver but I do care about that wine. Stop chugging it.”

Zoro gestures a bottle of wine towards Luffy. “This one of your friends?” he asks, ignoring Sanji’s demand entirely. The tilt of his head is calculating, no doubt assessing Luffy’s claim that Sanji is a member of their crew. He pulls the cork off and spits it into the kitchen, but before he can indulge himself, Sanji strides over and seizes the neck of the bottle.

“Do not,” she warns, staring down at him from the extra inches her high-heels provide. She gives the bottle a tug but Zoro doesn’t relent, and there is a moment of silence, of challenge between them, before Luffy bounces over waving a chicken drumstick.

“This is Sanji! Sanji, this is Zoro - you’re both crew!”

“We’re what?” Sanji asks, seeming to remember herself as she tears her gaze from Zoro and wrestles, instead, the pile of food from Luffy’s arms. She arranges it onto a serving trolley with a heavy sigh, muttering profanities to herself, and then shakes her head as Luffy blurts out an explanation for their missing identities, memories, and the night’s exciting events. Zoro watches on with a smug expression, his increasingly large sips of wine appearing to test Sanji’s volatile patience.

“Hang on, hang on.” Sanji switches off the oven timer and shoves her hands into a pair of oven-gloves, pulling out the tray. Luffy doesn’t get to see what’s inside, but whatever it is, it smells amazing as she fetches a couple of plates, some cutlery, and a serving spatula to dish out the food. Once finished, she switches off the oven and places the dirty utensils in the sink, looking like the world’s most unlikely chef in her stiletto heels and sparkling navy dress. Finally, she scoops up the plates with a practiced hand, offers Zoro a shake of her head, and slips back through the doorway with a spring in her step.

Zoro and Luffy exchange a befuddled look.

“Doesn’t look very kidnapped to me,” Zoro says, chugging down the wine.

In the next room, Luffy’s worries only grow more unfounded. For there, perched on a rickety old bench and smiling behind a mask of white feathers, sits Swan - Queen Vivi herself - who gratefully accepts the plate that Sanji flourishes before her. She seems in high spirits despite the explosion and her subsequent kidnapping, but Luffy notices dark marks around her wrists and scuffs in her dazzling dress that certainly weren’t there before. Zoro must notice them too, for he hums before his next sip of wine and chooses to lean against the doorframe, blocking - guarding - the sole entrance to the room.

“Mx Peregrine! I’m so glad you’re all right,” Vivi calls, rising as Luffy bounces over. From up close, they can see scratches across her chin and signs of wear around the corners of her mask. A clump of the pearly white feathers appear to be missing as well, as though someone has yanked them out with significant force. Luffy flicks their gaze to Sanji, but if she, too, is injured, then she is hiding it well.

“What happened to you guys?” Luffy asks, angered by the mere possibility that their nakama and crew may be hurt. “Whatcha doing in here?”

“Some assholes tried tried to grab Her Majesty during the ruckus of the explosion,” Sanji explains. “They were dressed like the performers, so the whole thing was probably a set up. One of them had a Devil Fruit or something - he moved like a shadow - and the other one could create walls. They must’ve been like two-way mirrors, because we could still see the ballroom but nobody could see us.”

They really were right under our noses, Luffy thinks. “D’you know what they wanted?”

Sanji waves her hand. “Money. Influence. What else? Thought kidnapping the Queen was a brilliant idea. Idiots.”

“We don’t know for certain that I am the Queen,” Vivi says, sounding as though she has voiced this argument many times before. “They wished to sway my opinion on various political matters, but I was, of course, unable to provide them the information they seek. Regardless of who I am, however, I will not betray this kingdom to those who wish to do it harm, no matter the threat or the bribe.”

As far as Luffy is concerned, Vivi certainly talks and dresses like someone who could be royalty, and Sanji had said that only the Alabastian royalty wear her particular periwinkle blue. Although, there are plenty of wealthy, well-spoken guests at the party tonight, and some, like Sanji, are also dressed in blue. Even Zoro’s wearing gold hoops in his ear - but he speaks too harshly for a royal court, that’s for sure. Plus, Vivi is wearing a mask just like everybody else, which should conceal her identity just as Luffy’s and Zoro’s were taken from them. This suggests that only somebody familiar with the Queen would have recognised her - unlikely, but perhaps not impossible - or there was somebody at the party who was not affected by the masks.

Nami and the rest of the crew have proven that simply not wearing a mask can grant one this ability. Yet, only people wearing masks were allowed into the ballroom, meaning somebody stuck past or worked with the guards, or there is something else at play.

Luffy bites their tongue, thinking hard. There is so much going on that they can barely follow the details. The whole point of having an awesome and super-smart crew is to help with this sort of thing, right?

“So what are you doing in here?” Zoro presses from the doorway.

“Gave ‘em the slip when they tried to move us out of the ballroom not too long ago. The Alabastian soldiers were almost onto us, which is crazy ‘cause they’re clearly too stupid to notice that some of their number are dupes.”

“The guard is compromised?”

“What a surprise, right?” Sanji drawls. “Kingdoms topple from the inside, not the outside. That’s why we’re in here - that, and a kitchen should always have a first aid kit handy.” She jabs a thumb at the open first aid box on the table. “The chefs here got something right, at least.”

“We’ve left our assailants tied-up in one of the stock rooms down the corridor,” Vivi explains with a guilty, and yet satisfied, little smile. “There’s only three of them, but there were more. One of the performers - the one in the moth mask - went to find the Devil Fruit user in control of the masks, but she never returned.”

“The masks are part of a Devil Fruit power?” Zoro asks, just as Luffy shrieks, “Owl?” and doubles over with laughter, clutching at their stomach.

“You’re to blame for that then,” Sanji deduces.

“Yeah! We caught that guy a while back, and then Moth and Magpie came to steal him back! He said he was hired by the court or something. I wasn’t really listening ‘cause he was dumb.”

“Guess he’s your mole,” Zoro grumbles. “Or one of them, if he’s not working alone. Damn, we should’ve gotten rid of him while we had the chance. That would’ve solved everything.”

“No, I am glad you refrained from that,” Vivi says gently, soothing against Luffy’s disbelieving cry. “If I really had been confirmed as the Queen, then we never may have gotten away. The man in the raven mask seemed to lose interest when he realised I didn’t have anything to say.”

“Except curses,” Sanji supplies, and Vivi colours faintly, aware that this is behaviour many would consider unbefitting of a queen.

“Well, they deserved those,” she says around a little cough, returning to her meal with a smile. She finishes quickly, and now satisfied and with colour returning to her face, she reaches for the first aid kit beside her. She gathers the ball of cotton and the antiseptic, and motions come here at Sanji, who shifts almost guiltily in her chair.

“You said after I’d eaten,” Vivi says, amused but stern. “I need to wrap it before we move on.”

“What do you mean, he lost interest?” Zoro asks as Sanji relents and moves over, allowing Vivi to work. He is ever attentive to the important matters, whatever he may deem them to be, and steers the conversation back on topic. “You said he wanted money, power? Why would he just give up so easily? Did you learn anything else?”

“Maybe he found another Queen to kidnap,” Luffy suggests. “Maybe that was why he ransacked the palace.”

Zoro’s huffing is becoming a familiar response, and Luffy grins as he crosses his arms. Even exasperated, Zoro never ceases to be a source of amusement. “Well he’d be looking in the wrong place,” he reasons. “Everyone was evacuated into the courtyard. We saw them out there with the soldiers -”

“It’s a trap,” Sanji realises, speaking sharply. “If this man - Owl, you said? - can identify people, then what’s stopping these guys from picking off other people from the party? There are probably lords and ladies from all over the world here tonight. If he wants a ransom, then they’ve got plenty of opportunity. Those guests are practically a pile of money sitting all pretty out there, waiting for their masks to come off.”

“Or he could just hunt the pirates,” Zoro adds, sounding as though he speaks from experience. (Luffy guesses that his Pirate Hunter epithet has some truth to it after all). “We can’t be the only ones here.”

Sanji just shakes her head to that, commenting with a sigh: “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re pirates?”

“You are too!” Luffy says. “You’re Sanji, and you’re on my crew!”

“Your crew?” Sanji laughs in their face, and Luffy glowers. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“It’s true! I’m Monkey D. Luffy and I’m made of rubber!”

“Don’t ask them to prove it,” Zoro grumbles, but Sanji just scoffs in his direction and ignores the advice - don’t tell me what to do, says the upward pull of her lip and the tilt of her chin - and plants her elbow onto the table, waving an encouraging hand.

“Go on then,” she says. “Have at it.”

Luffy’s face splits open with a grin. Vivi glances between their smile and Sanji’s goading expression before backing away from the table, and she is wise to do so as Luffy cracks their knuckles, wondering just how far they can fling Sanji before it earns them a kick in the teeth.

It’s not as far as Luffy would like - but Sanji’s eardrum-shattering yell as she grinds their face into the steps of the palace courtyard is worth it. The soldiers on guard stand agape, unable to comprehend the two people that have just crashed out of the palace and landed in a heap - safely, for Luffy will ensure nothing else - at the bottom of the staircase. Sanji spits profanities as she tries to kick off Luffy’s rapturous smile, but there is nothing that can quell Luffy’s shrieking laughter, not even the approach of the guards and their weapons, or Zoro’s wheezing yell of WHAT HAPPENED TO HIDING as he and Vivi race to catch up.

“We’re looking for a dude!” Luffy announces to the crowd - the guards and the wary guests behind them, huddled together like psychedelic penguins bemoaning their fate and boredom.

“Wearing a raven mask and a big hat,” Sanji supplies, leaning over Luffy with the promise of another bone-shattering kick should they make one wrong move. Luffy isn’t fazed in the slightest, and that’s half the reason that Sanji is so enraged. The guards, on the other hand, edge closer with their spears clasped tightly, eyeing the roughhousing duo with trepidation.

“A bird dude!” Luffy agrees from the ground, pumping their fists into the air. “Has anyone seen him? What type of hat is he wearing - is it a straw hat? He’s not allowed to wear a straw hat, only I’m allowed to wear a straw hat.”

“It was broad and pointed,” sighs Sanji, who seems to have conceded to Luffy’s identity as the infamous Strawhat Pirate. “A bit like -”

“A WIZARD. WE’RE LOOKING FOR RAVEN THE WIZARD. Also has anyone seen our crew? We’re looking for them too, I guess. There’s Nami, she’s my navigator, and Usopp, he’s my sniper and he’s hilarious, and -”

“What were you doing inside of the palace?” The green-cloaked man from before approaches with haste, two soldiers at his side, and the guards surrounding Luffy and Sanji salute as they part for the captain. He has not drawn his blade, but his expression is fierce as he comes to stand before them, eyeing Luffy, Sanji, and then Zoro and Vivi just in the distance in turn. “How did you get in there? What was your intent? Speak, or I shall have you all spend the night in the jails. All guests were supposed to remain in the courtyard or medical tent until they could be questioned.”

“That’s dumb,” Luffy decides, hauling themself up. “Bet we found out more than you did! We even found the Queen!” They gesture animatedly at Vivi. Her fingers flutter in a wave as the captain turns towards her, expression grim.

“The Queen’s whereabouts cannot be confirmed until we have negated the effect of the masks,” the captain begins gravely, staring at Vivi for just a moment longer with a stiff, practiced neutrality.

“You looking for the Owl guy? We found him too! He’s with my crew. He’s a liar, if you didn’t know.”

“Explain.”

Luffy huffs, bored of talking already. However, they chose their crew for a reason (even if they cannot remember that reason - although it was probably because they’re awesome) and the timely appearance of Franky, Jinbe, and Chopper through the crowd saves Luffy from answering. The guards part as Franky cuts through them, looking at their captain for orders. At first, the captain of the guard looks wary, one hand resting on his blade, but then recognition softens his expression as Chopper darts out from behind Jinbe and launches himself at Sanji, wailing all the while.

“Sanji, you’re okay! We were so worried - where have you been? Are you hurt? You’re hurt, aren’t you? Why are you and Zoro always getting into trouble? Someone call a doctor! Oh wait, I’m a doctor. Where’s my med kit - oh what have I done with -?”

“Err,” is all Sanji manages, baffled by the little reindeer bawling into her legs. She has frozen in a half-hearted attempt to push him away, and now her hands hover awkwardly, and she considers Chopper with a look of someone facing the responsibility of caring for a hyperactive puppy. “I’m fine,” she croaks. “I’m - fine?”

“She’s injured,” Zoro supplies. Sanji hisses at him (“shut your face”) and this only prompts Chopper to shriek even more.

“Chaka, thank you,” Jinbe says, holding up a hand to the captain of the guard. “This is Luffy and Sanji - and Zoro, I see. Whatever they may have told you is true.”

The captain - Chaka? - still looks doubtful, but a wave of his hand has his soldiers lowering their arms. For a second, his gaze darts back to Vivi (nudging Zoro disapprovingly as he chortles over Sanji’s indignation), but he seems no more inclined to believe that she is the Queen as before.

He shakes his head. “I cannot afford to make assumptions. What is it you have learnt? Tell me everything.”

So Jinbe fills him in, with input from Zoro and Vivi. Chopper has sat Sanji down on the steps and proceeded to fuss, redressing her cuts and scrapes with such vigour that he may as well be throwing the bandages at her. Luffy bounces in place with a restless rhythm, eager to move away from the conversation and begin searching for Raven. If herding the guests together was a trap, then it is one that has yet to be sprung. And if the royal guard really are compromised, then it is only a matter of time before Raven learns that the Strawhats are hunting him. Luffy does not want the night to end in more bloodshed, but at the same time, they have been itching for a good fight for hours.

“We caught up with the others,” Franky says, voice dropped low to speak solely to Luffy. “They’re super, but Owl managed to give them the slip. Nami and Brook went after him. Robin and Usopp took care of the other one - Moth? They said you just disappeared. What happened, bro?”

“The magpie lady could create these weird doors,” Luffy replies. “Me and Zoro ended up at the palace, and we found Sanji and Vivi. We think the boss guy is going to try and attack the posh guests - or find Owl, I dunno. Owl’s the one who controls the masks.”

“That’s unsuper, bro, but Nami and Brook’ll be able to catch him. Maybe we should tell Chaka to relocate everyone till it’s safe. There’s enough soldiers here to make it pretty easy, yeah?”

A clock tower tolls deep into the city. The night is late but too early, still, for the rise of the morning, and the bell chimes once, then twice, as though the sky is yawning over the sleepless streets. The blaze of the palace is a gentle glow now, a hearth of stone and gold struggling to warm the desert chill, but smoke still smothers the city, scattering ashes and cinders like confetti, like rain. Luffy turns to the sound of the bell unbidden, not quite remembering a time when it rang before. Across the courtyard, they see the guests begin to stir, goldfish-bowl heads and extravagant masks turning in confusion, and around them, the soldiers that were protecting them are now closing ranks. There is no sight of a raven-masked man, but that does not mean his associates are not present in the crowd.

“Some of the soldiers are bad,” Luffy says, and Franky’s cry of what? is drowned out by the sound of swords being drawn across the courtyard, metal grinding metal, spears and shields clanging, and voices rising in terror - slowly, at first, merely warbles of confusion as the guards prepare for attack, but then sharply, and loudly, as it becomes clear that the threat is not approaching from beyond the courtyard.

“What are you doing?” Chaka calls, barely turning in time to avoid the spear at his throat. He still doesn’t draw his sword, but this certainly isn’t because he is out-matched. The soldiers that have turned against the crowd out-number the ones that have not, but Luffy is sure that Chaka and their crew could handle a few traitorous guards. However, with the guests unprotected, herded together by the sharp points of spears and the double-edge of blades, Chaka may as well be without his weapon for all that it will do. The soldiers could slaughter the party guests far quicker than he could immoblise them all.

Luffy knows this too, and so they do not react as they are surrounded. At their side, Franky grumbles a protest but does the same, holding up his duck egg blue hands in surrender. Jinbe obeys without complaint, although the roll of his eyes is telling. A huff from Zoro and a cynical barb from Sanji suggest that the rest of the crew have followed suit.

“Get the Queen - the girl in the blue,” one guard orders, and another rushes to obey. Vivi stands firm as he snags her elbow and drags her away, but Zoro lurches forward, almost skewering himself on a spear that thrusts up to stop him. One of the guards hisses a warning, and Zoro hisses one back, teeth bared in a snarl as Vivi is yanked across the courtyard towards Chaka and the guards surrounding him.

“A trade,” the same guard proposes, digging his spear a little deeper into Chaka’s back. His gaze cuts to Luffy, two amber eyes of greed. “Owl for the lives of everybody present.”

“Ahh, I can’t do that,” Luffy replies. Their shrug startles some of the soldiers, and one of the spears almost takes off their ear. Luffy doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “Owl’s not here.”

The guard narrows his eyes, ash-blond hair sweeping over his face. There is something odd about the way he looks, about his aura, surrounding him so thickly that it is like icing on a cake. “Then I suggest you bring him here.”

“Nope.” Luffy pops the ‘p’. “I dunno where he is. Guess you’ll have to kill everyone and go looking for him yourself.”

The guests have things to say about that, their voices rising in fear. The Strawhat Pirates, on the other hand, those that remember and those that don’t, simply sigh at Luffy’s carefree tone, a long-suffering sound of resignation ringing out.

The guard who appears to be in charge sneers, before turning to those around him with a critical eye, judging his options. Chaka and Jinbe are barely feet away, Luffy and Franky not much further. Vivi and Zoro are both alone, separated from everybody by the glint of knives. Sanji and Chopper are a short ways off, still seated on the stairs that lead up to the palace, and the guests and the few guards still loyal to the crown are a ways further, the most helpless of all.

The guard inclines his head towards Zoro. “Kill him,” he orders, before driving his spear through Chaka’s back and yanking it free in one clean motion, and then kicking the gurgling captain to the ground. He steps over Chaka without remorse, his spear dripping blood and his eyes just as sharp, but it is Zoro that Luffy whirls towards, who punches a guard with a resounding crack of knuckles into a jaw.

“Hey!” Franky shouts, Luffy’s only warning before a spear is at their throat, Chaka’s blood sliding down the tip and dotting into their clothes. The guard - the main guard, the one who they believe might be Raven - is behind them, and there are others in front, standing impassively as they all watch Zoro being forced to his knees. He grunts as two guards shove him down, less in pain and more in anger, but it is not fear for himself that has him calling Luffy’s name.

Vivi screams, trying to free herself. Franky and Sanji curse like sailors - Franky, under his breath, and Sanji at the top of her lungs. Chopper wails a sound that tugs at Luffy’s heart, and even Jinbe, ever so calm and steadfast despite the chaos of the night, feels alarmed, his aura rocking like waves along a shore. But it is the other auras that Luffy can see - the lights, the people in the distance, one a deep, lavender purple and the other like the red-orange crackle of gunpowder - that they focus on, reassured by their familiarity and the confidence of their approach, even as Raven’s spear nicks their neck and Zoro lifts his head, his gaze unquestioning as Luffy simply smiles.

The soldiers around Zoro ready their spears, and from their shoulders pairs of arms extend in a flurry of pink blossom and a flash of manicured hands and brown skin, to take hold of their heads and snap their necks around with a grotesque crack! The soldiers crumple, immobilised or dead it cannot be seen, and Zoro sweeps up a fallen spear ands pitches it at Raven; his aim is shit, which would have Luffy in peels of laughter any other time, but it does the trick. The guards surrounding Luffy and Franky fling themselves out of the way, and though the spear misses its mark by metres, the distraction it provides serves an as ample opportunity for Luffy to snatch Raven’s weapon away and swing it like a baton into his side - through his side, even, though his shoulder and chest and out the other side without so much as leaving a mark, as though Raven is but a mirage in the cold desert air. Momentum sends Luffy toppling to the ground, but Franky is there to wrench them to their feet as the traitorous soldiers fall about them, their bones cracking and their heads spinning as Robin’s army of hands flutter across the courtyard.

“Where’d he go? He was right here! I’m gonna bash his face in!”” Luffy cries, wiggling out of Franky’s grasp. “Oi, Usopp. USOPP. WHICH WAY’D HE GO?”

A cry of you’re asking me? echoes out from above the skyline, where Usopp, no doubt, has his slingshot cocked and ready - or had, perhaps, on the brink of danger, but is probably now waving it in frustration as Luffy throws a grin to the sky.

“Bro,” Franky says, nudging them back around. “We gotta get the guests to safety -”

“You do that!” Luffy says, slapping one of his metal arms. Then they spin around, scanning the body-littered courtyard for their crew. Vivi and Chopper have rushed to Chaka’s side, and Sanji strides over, hands patting down her dress as though she is likely to find a cigarette there. “Jinbe, stay with Vivi and Chopper and the Chaka-dude. Sanji. SANJI. You and Franky are in charge of the guests! Zoro - ZoroZoroZoroZoro -”

The calls summons the swordsman, who marches over with a hand at the back of his neck, lazily rubbing away pain. “What?” Zoro says, more unperturbed by Luffy’s hyperactivity than his near-death experience. “For god’s sake, what?”

Luffy bounces forward and clasps him by the shoulders, but remembers his aversion to hugging at the last second and thinks better of it. Instead, and they cannot explain what compels them to do so, they lay their hands on either side of Zoro’s face and slam their masks together, unheeding of the pain as they stare the bewildered swordsman dead in the eye.

“You’re fine,” Luffy says, before letting him go.

Zoro doesn’t say anything, but his air of ??????? is clear.

They - being Luffy, with Zoro naturally following behind - rendezvous with Usopp and Robin just beyond the courtyard. Franky and Sanji will have a hard time wrangling the panic-stricken, uncooperative guests to safety, so Usopp goes to keep watch over Raven’s soldiers, lest they regain consciousness and try to regain control. He goes nervously, but proudly, saluting Luffy with his slingshot like the best friend that they don’t remember but know him to be, leaving Luffy, Zoro, and Robin with the option to pursue Raven or seek out Nami and Brook in the city. The sight of Nami’s Thunderbolt Tempo breaking open the sky decides for them, a beacon of fire in the distance so unlike the palace burning. It may be that Raven has fled to pursue Owl for himself, as Robin reasons, which Luffy decides is as good an excuse as any and dashes off in the direction of the last flickering whites of the lightning.

“Wait - just a moment,” Robin calls, pausing to cross her arms over her chest and materialise more of her hands. Down from the nearby rooftop they come, sprouting out of brick and glass like a procession of flags. They carry three familiar objects and one that has a grin splitting open Luffy’s face: a bundle of swords, clattering together, and a worn, but well-loved, old straw hat.

Luffy snatches the hat, marvelling at the rough texture and the sharp, fraying edges of straw, and shoves it onto their head, laughing as the wide brim flops down over their eyes. However, Zoro doesn’t seem to share in their enthusiasm, regarding the three katana with a hesitance and a frown unbefitting of his face; he jerks his head away as Robin presents the swords, stubborn to the last, at least.

“I can’t use those,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks uncomfortable, and Luffy pads closer, hurting to see such an expression on his face. “I don’t remember them.”

“They’ll remember you,” Luffy argues, still clutching onto their hat.

Zoro’s jaw twitches. “Not the white one,” he concedes. “I can’t use that one.” Still, of the three, he only accepts the black sword, avoiding the white and red-sheathed ones with a hard set to his mouth. A darkness clings to the red one, as though something sinister and powerful dwells within its steel.

“I see that you are not equipped to carry these. No matter, I will do so, if you permit? Today has certainly been an adventure, has it not?” Robin says with a smile; all she needs is a set of fangs to complete her snow leopard look. Zoro grumbles an agreement that might have been I’ll say as he turns the black sword over in his hands, and Luffy laughs before racing ahead once again, as exhilarated as the evening and the oncoming dawn.

They slingshot around a corner and roll cackling, howling, and shrieking across the dirt and into Nami, her little bubbles of stormclouds scattering like marbles into the air. Together, they lurch to a stop at Brook’s feet, who yohohos a startled laugh and untangles them, brushing Luffy down for good measure. His hair is standing on end and spitting little sparks, but being struck by lightning doesn’t appear to have fazed him. Nami, on the other hand, is glowing red with panic, and as she dives behind Luffy with her staff clutched tightly, they can see why.

Further down the street, a man flanked by two others approaches. His build and appearance are difficult to discern beneath his trailing, grey cloak and mask, but his sharp jaw is framed in lifeless, black hair and the shadows cast by the wide brim of his hat. The people beside him are unfamiliar - a man in the mask of a monkey and a woman wearing something tawny and long-snouted like a dog. Owl is slung over the woman’s shoulder. None of these people are the ashy-haired soldier from the courtyard, but as Luffy rocks forward on their heels between Brook and Nami, their weapons already drawn, Sanji’s description of Raven comes to mind.

“Hey you!” Luffy calls, pointing to the man in the middle. “Are you Raven? What happened to your hair?”

“I am,” the man replies, his voice the same as the soldier’s from the courtyard. “Has my Devil Fruit power confused you?”

“Eh? Haven’t you just changed your clothes?”

Nami swats them with her staff. “He can make copies of people,” she explains with mounting ire. “A bit like Bon Kurei, I think, but he can’t seem to change his own appearance. One strike of my Thunderbolt Tempo is enough to get rid of them, but the other two...”

One strike of her Thunderbolt Tempo is probably enough to get rid of anybody, Luffy thinks, glancing at Monkey and Hyena. It’s hard to tell if they’re real or not, but judging by the sparks dancing on the end of Nami’s staff and the icy shroud swirling around Brook’s sword, they probably are.

Luffy grins, cracking their knuckles. The click of metal behind them announces Zoro, sliding his forgotten blade from its sheath. Between the five of them, they’ll be able to take down Raven - the real Raven - and his lackeys easy-peasy, no matter how many more fake-opponents he can produce. A man who blows up a party, kidnaps a Queen for power, and then hides behind illusions while other people fight and bleed for him is a coward - and cowards aren’t worth fighting. Luffy is almost disappointed; they have been itching to bash some faces in all evening, and Raven seemed like the perfect challenge. He won’t be, of this Luffy is sure now, but that’s not going to stop them from beating the asshole who kidnapped and hurt their crew into the ground.

“The guy in the hat’s mine,” Luffy declares, before flinging themself down the street. Monkey and Hyena leap to the side, and Raven dives back, arching away from Luffy’s punch. Clothes stretch and tear as Monkey hunches over himself, doubling in size from a man to a gorilla, and his mask is ironically adept, Luffy thinks, unable to hold back a burst of laughter as Monkey rises up into his new, colossal height, black-furred like a bear and a monstrous size. He charges at Luffy, spitting saliva as he roars, and at Luffy’s other size, Hyena tosses Owl into the ground and digs her heels deep into the dirt, brandishing jagged knuckle-dusters on her fists.

Luffy ignores them, trusting in their crew. Brook and Nami jump in to distract Monkey, ice and lightning fizzling in snaps and white-hot arches, and steel sings as Zoro steps in to block Hyena, the crack of her knuckle-dusters grinding against his sword like a gunshot into the night. A short sword swings out from underneath Raven’s cloak, and with a flick of the man’s hand, three Alabastian soldiers rise up from the ground, ink-like shadows twisting and congealing into shape.

“Robin!” Luffy shouts, barrelling over the first one. Flower petals and limbs dance behind them, trapping the soldiers from following, and Luffy launches themself at Raven, fists flying like bullets from a pistol, their elasticated body snapping and recoiling. They can’t recall a time when they fought with this Devil Fruit, but they are the future King of the Pirates, and this temporary memory loss isn’t enough to stop them. Their body remembers even though their mind does not, just as Robin uses her Devil Fruit and Zoro his sword with ease, and they are a formidable opponent despite Raven’s skill with a blade - despite the way it cuts through their skin like Magpie’s bullets could not, spraying blood over the Alabastian streets.

Hyena screams. Shockwaves explode down the street. Windows shatter and the ground quakes at the sound, her voice like a haunting and terrible shriek of laughter. Luffy slaps their hands to their ears, doubling over in pain, and Raven cracks the end of his blade into their head, sending them sprawling to the ground. He is swift to follow-through, twirling the sword and driving the bloodied edge into the dirt; Luffy rolls away at the last second, their sleeve snagging and tearing as they lurch to the side. Hyena screams again - Zoro’s probably gone deaf - but this time Luffy somersaults away from Raven and kicks a sandaled foot into his face; a satisfying curse of pain follows the slap of leather against flesh, and Luffy follows through with their fist, narrowly avoiding the sword as it sweeps up past their chin.

If the people of Alubarna were sleeping, then they certainly aren’t now.

“Thunderbolt Tempo!” Nami cries, and lightning carves open the street. Monkey howls, a hulking silhouette within the yellow-white flame. Nami looks quite pleased with herself until he comes barrelling out, and Robin’s flowery hands are all that saves her from being trampled on by the enraged Zoan. Brook laughs all the while, dancing around as though the sounds of combat are music to his ears - not that he has any ears.

“Skull joke!” Luffy says, and Raven looks so baffled that they sock him in the jaw. He collapses into the dirt, hat tumbling off, and Luffy pauses only to wipe blood from their chin before advancing, refusing to let Raven gain any ground. They roll back their shoulder, readying a catastrophic punch. Their flip-flops slap so unlike the heavy, daunting approach of boots or the confident clip of heels, but Raven scrambles away as though the sound is the toll of the bell-tower or the steady, warning beat of a drum.

It may as well be.

“You shouldn’t’ve attacked my nakama,” Luffy says, stalking Raven past the houses in the lamplight, softly lit in undertones of gold. Nearly every man that Raven creates with a flick of his wrist is captured by Robin’s unshakeable grasp, and those that escape are insignificant to Luffy; there are no hostages here, no one in need of protection, and Luffy will fight and bleed and break for their crew if it means that no one will never be taken from them again.

They punch Raven again, savouring the snap of bone. He doesn’t seem so threatening now that he’s lying in the dirt and his flunkies are outnumbered and outmatched; Luffy doesn’t have to turn and see that their nakama are winning, for they trust in their nakama’s strength and can feel triumph in the burn of their auras, silvery blues, purples, and golds. “You shouldn't've hurt them, or taken them. Vivi would’ve never done what you wanted because she’s the Queen and she’s smart. She loves this kingdom and someone like you was never gonna take it from her.”

Lightning and ice crackle once again, the air blazing hot and then dropping to a sub-zero chill. The ground shakes as Monkey collapses, his fur sizzling from the onslaught. Luffy hears the clap of Nami and Robin high-fiving, and Brook’s tinkling laughter over the scrape of blade against knuckle-duster, metal on metal, Zoro finishing his fight with Hyena.

“You don’t know anything about this country,” Raven spits. “If you did, you would want things to change!”

Luffy frowns, sucking in a sharp breath through their nose. “Change shouldn’t involve people dying!”

“Says the pirate!”

Luffy hauls Raven up by his shirt. He’s tall - taller than Luffy, at any least - but their arms stretch to lift the assassin straight off his feet, dangling him a good two foot off the ground. His cloak trails in the dirt, brushing up sand, and Luffy tilts their head back to see the starlight peeking out from behind the smoke and the clouds.

“Not just a pirate,” they say, stretching back their fist. Behind his mask, Raven’s eyes are wide with fear. Opposite each other, they are two birds of Alubarna, a predator and scavenger brawling for the city in the night. Luffy wonders how they look behind their mask, but then they decide it doesn’t matter because they know who they are.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be the Pirate King!”

Their punch sends Raven flying.

“Is he dead?” Nami asks, poking Owl with the end of her staff. Raven, Monkey, and Hyena are crumpled heaps along the street, but it is Owl that the crew are gathered around, sharing victorious smiles and sighing at each other’s bruises. Luffy is the most bloody of them all, but Zoro comes in a close-second, which must be typical of the crew considering that Nami merely rolled her eyes.

“I doubt it,” Robin replies, and she is proven correct as Zoro kicks Owl onto his back and they all listen to him groan.

“Shame,” sigh the Strawhat crew, tired and battered but grinning wickedly.

“I should think it’s about time we regained our memories,” Brook chimes. “Luffy-san, would you like to do the honours?”

Luffy doesn’t hesitant before slamming their fist into Owl’s face. He doesn’t make a sound before flopping limp, which means that Zoro’s mumble of should’ve done that ages ago is heard loud and clear. Luffy is inclined to agree, but there’s nothing for it now: Vivi and the crew are safe, if not a little beaten, and Raven won’t be blowing up any more parties any time soon. Owl will probably never be hired for a masquerade again, but that’s probably a good thing as Luffy reaches up to their mask, feels the rounded edge and the wonky beak, traces their fingers around the back through the speckled, feathery plume, and pulls free the knot of ribbon tying it in place.

It falls off without fanfare down into their lap.

Luffy blinks slowly, squeezing their eyes shut a few times. They wrinkle their nose, the lessened weight over their eyes a strange sensation, and then scratch their cheek where they couldn’t before, feeling and recognising an old scar underneath their left eye. Shanks, Luffy thinks, remembering the Merry, the Sunny, and their adventures across the Blues, the ups and downs of the Grand Line, over mountain-tops and under the sea, and finally the New World and the formidable pirates that dwell there, before throwing their head back to laugh.

“Luffy?” Nami says. “You okay?”

Luffy nods, their beloved straw hat dropped down over their eyes. They laugh at that too, tipping it back to see Nami watching with worry as Brook checks his skull for his tone dial and Robin relinquishes Zoro’s katana with a bemused little smile. They are unharmed, and that’s good, that’s all Luffy really wants, and they grin at Nami in answer.

“I’m gonna kill Franky,” Zoro breathes, gesturing to the flowery neon shirt still swamping his shoulders. “‘You’ll thank me later’ my arse. Should’ve just taken my binder off, for fuck’s sake.”

“It suits you,” Nami says, and Zoro flips her the bird.

“But it does,” Luffy agrees, which notably doesn’t earn them the same gesture. Instead, Zoro raises a sharp eyebrow and pauses in unbuttoning his shirt, no doubt having every intention to take off the shirt, or his binder, or both right there in the street. His earrings jingle a tune as baffled as his expression, and so Luffy throws their arms wide and adds, “You look like a pineapple!”

“Luffy, I swear to god,” Zoro sighs, ignoring how Nami laughs so hard that Brook has to hold her up. Even Robin smiles, although she is polite enough to hide it behind her hand. Zoro scowls, the tips of his ears burning red, and Luffy’s easy smile only grows.

“D’you wanna stop off to grab another shirt before going back to the palace?” they ask. Sanji and Vivi will be taking off their masks, now, and remembering who they are. Hopefully Chaka and the rest of the royal guard are all right, although if they're not, then they're with Chopper, and thus in good hands.

Zoro considers it, but then shakes his head as Nami’s laughter dies away. She wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, and he sticks his tongue out at her. “Nah, forget it. Franky’ll probably cry.”

“We certainly don’t need that,” Robin agrees, pausing thoughtfully. “Although, I imagine that he will be emotional upon discovering that our memories have returned.”

“Let’s not tell him,” Zoro deadpans, but Luffy leaping over and slapping a kiss into his cheek completely ruins his attempt at a serious mood.