Chapter Text
Canon would have been easier to navigate.
It was the frequent thought of the woman known to many as “The Informant”. To others, however, she was just the First Mate of the Ouroboros Crew. And to even others, she was Alexia of the Bate Entertainment Company.
She and six others, including her sister, had ended up in One Piece. But not just One Piece, oh no, that would have been too easy. No. They had ended up in an alternate universe, where SOULMATES WERE A THING.
And she had one.
Joy.
She wasn't the only one on the crew, but not all of them were marked, either. And Jim's soulmate was dead, anyway. That had been hard to swallow, even though they hadn't actually had the marks for as long as people their age usually would have. Their mentality had shifted, slowly but surely, to match that of the world they had stumbled into. Alexia found herself caressing the words on her arm with longing and fondness.
They were the first words she'd hear her soulmate speak. Not the first words her soulmate would speak to her. It was a minor, but important distinction. They were strange enough that she wouldn't have to hear them more than once, but generic enough that she couldn't begin to guess who they could belong to. It wouldn't likely be anyone involved with the plot. Her sister, on the other hand...
Yeah, the was no mistaking the “yoi” at the end of her words.
Not all soulmates were romantic, which was the option Jonas was hoping for. The man wasn't interested in relationships himself even though he liked a good romance. But Alexia hoped for the cliché romantic soulmate. It was her nurturing side that was practically desperate for a person that would let her take care of them.
It was a problem and it had only been enhanced by their presence in an anime world.
But no matter. What was important that somewhere out there there was a person meant just for her. And perhaps even more humbling was the thought that she was someone meant just for them. It was breathtaking to even consider.
She'd made a lot of money using the Devil Fruit Projector to find peoples' soulmates and tell her customers where to go.
She'd considered using it for herself, but had dismissed the idea soon afterwards. Sure, she was curious, but she wanted to find them on her own.
Doing gigs at bars wasn't something they did often, but this one was on a Whitebeard island, so they hadn't protested much. Not only due to the fact that they probably wouldn't get accosted by idiots this time, but also because Alexia wanted to check up on a particular pirate who should be part of the crew by now. They'd unfortunately ended up in the New World that day, which had meant learning to survive. And fast. Those first few years had been traumatic. They'd managed to catch a break by getting to Paradise to rest, and wasn't that a laughable thought in hindsight. They'd have much rather ended up in one of the blues, thanks.
They'd been hired for a pre-New Year's party of sorts. The owner of the rather sizeable establishment, built to be able to house Newgate himself, no doubt, had said that some Whitebeards would probably show up, but who could know for sure.
The place was noisy, that was for sure. But not noisy enough to obscure the laughter from the table she was passing, soon answered by grumbles as the hunched over figure the laughter was aimed at sat up.
“Wah? Aw crap, I fell asleep in my food, didn't I?”
Alexia froze, her hand coming up to touch her clothed arm, where her skin warmed as the black words on her arm slowly changed colour.
“And stop laughing! I'd like to see you look spotless after face-planting in your lunch!”
And there was the rest of it. Alexia took in a shuddering breath as she turned to look at the impossibility behind her.
There sat her soulmate, an orange cowboy hat on his head and a yellow short sleeved button up obscuring his back, where his own words must sit. There was no other reason for him to have tattooed the simplified version of the Whitebeards Jolly Roger on his chest if that wasn't the case.
Taking another breath, she forced her feet to take her toward the stage where the rest of her crew were, ignoring the tears of happiness and heartbreak to run down her cheeks. It made sense, she supposed, for her to be made for him.
She just couldn't believe that he had been made for her.
There were no words to describe the way she felt right then.
So she would give them to him in song.
After all... he had to have a really fucking big list of words if he couldn't fit a tattoo there.