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Cockspur killed its owner, knifed him right in the groin. Cockfighting was illegal in all World Government territories, but it was still popular within them and without. The death sparked a manhunt.
Sanji rescued the proud rooster and hadn't yet cooked and eaten him. Cockspur hadn't meant to drive the long knife into his owner's flesh, but it was attached to his leg and he didn't want to fight the other gamecocks. His owner had readied him for the ring and he’d struggled in his grip, and the knife plunged.
In the chicken coop, though, it was all offence. Cockspur strutted about like the boss he was. All fight and flight with toes extended and spur angled. There was a reason that the supernova fed the chickens. Or friends of the supernova. Very close friends. Luffy's two wings were wings, after all, and birds of a feather…
Not Nami nor Usopp though. No, no, no—they might be acquaintances of a supernova or two, but friends? Perish the thought. Supernovas were scary and wanted by the marines who were scarier still, and Nami and Usopp were also wanted by the marines, which was scariest of all.
As for the chickens, cooks were matches for fighting cocks, whether or not blades were involved. And it wasn't just the fighters in the henhouse that were rousing the rabble.
Miss Henny Penny sounded like Miss Moneypenny to Nami, and she was smitten enough with the thought of dough that she ventured into Sanji's coop to find the geese that laid golden eggs, so to speak, or at least a few feathers to stuff a few pillows.
The Straw Hat Headquarters' chicken yard was a way to fill the contours of her the crew's coffers. An egg or two here or there carefully secreted away could be sold for a few beri to passers-by caught short, yet too far from the markets. Every little bit counted. A tri-weekly occurrence all before the gamecock joined the brood.
Usopp had designed a protective shell gizmo for her, for the eggs, and joined Nami to see it in action when she'd first used it, and it became habit to tag along. Snipers were nothing if not covert.
However, despite Syrup Island being this side of Hicksville, Usopp's experience with feathered beasts was limited. In Cocoyashi, Nojiko had always dealt with the chooks while Nami pilfered the eggs, so neither of the Straw Hats really had any idea of how vicious hens could be. Especially when slighted and organised. Or maybe Nami knew too well, but the pursuit of beri overrode all.
Cornered in the chicken run now—no wonder Sanji dealt with the poultry, day in, day out, Nami thought. And the supernova dealt with them too, not that Nami or Usopp knew any supernova or notorious pirates if anyone asked them. No, siree Bob, not them, not now and not ever.
It was also not like the chicken, chickens, that currently pecked at the straps of her sandals, actually knew Nami and Usopps normal human status, but they sure seemed to. The cockerels, egged on by the pullets (but not literally), were particularly vicious. Chickens were omnivores, weren't they? Toes and worms looked the same to chooks, right?
Why had they turned? Sanji had to be kind to them, but who knew? Maybe there weren't enough ladies, but there was a one eyed rooster in addition to the hell-kite. A straightish and pointed twig stuck out of its beak.
"Call him," Usopp squeaked. The pecking of the hens and the flapping of wings was closing in and increasing in frequency and ferocity, and his nose might look like a perch if hens flew, or so he'd been told, and some of them could fly.
And there was that one-eyed chicken that was holding a blade, no, a twig, and were another two twigs hidden in its cockscomb? The rescue bird launched, claws and wing feathers wide, tail feather trailing.
"Call Sanji." It's not like their cook would come running for him, but for Nami it was a given. Nami stroked the eggs she'd placed in Usopp's contraption. "But…" A beri was a beri and she doubted Sanji would take kindly to her appropriating the food supplies.
"Hold this," she shoved the gadget at Usopp and he his hands folded around it automatically. Her scream overrode the clucking and hissing and crowing.
Sanji thrust the wicker basket at Zoro. "Mellorine needs me." He adjusted his tie, straightened his apron and ran. Zoro knew enough not to throw the basket to the ground, and there was a touch of urgency in Nami's voice, but also of cunning. He dawdled, wicker basket in the crook of his arm, long green coat kicking over his boots.
Damn chicken feathers and poop and bits of egg yolk, from the few that broke, got caught in the hems of his clothes, and scuffed up the toes of his shoes and the soles. And god forbid if he brought that into the cook's kitchen, but collecting the eggs with Sanji made the cook happy, so the wicker basket was important.
Cockspur had rallied the forces, but his one-eyed comrade wasn't listening and wandered out of the enclosure into the yard and started pecking at the dirt. How he pulled up worms without losing his stick was a wonder even to the chickens. A red-feathered hen stole every second item he extracted, straight from his beak. His neck feathers rippled with annoyance, green undertones prominent.
Cockspur wondered what kind of rooster wouldn't take a bullet for the ladies? Plus his potential progeny must be among the eggs Nami had lifted as much as his own. Well, not as much as his own. Only one rooster ruled the roost.
Of course some fertilised eggs were among the ones that blond guy took too, but blondie noted the broody hens, and marked the eggs most likely to contain a chick, and didn't remove them without consideration. Plus, he'd rescued him from the fighting ring and always had a nice word for the mothers, especially Charlotte Brunch.
A loyal solider, Brunch scratched the earth. Dust provided a smokescreen. The troops disappeared from one point of the chicken pen to another. Not only that, it was handy for kicking grit into opponents' eyes. Some chooks decided to have a dust bath instead of rallying, but no-one said that organising the masses was easy.
Nami really didn't want to use her Clima-Tact on a chicken, but the new rooster neared—squawking, comb raised, wattles jiggling. And those talons, that spur—they'd serrate her from exposed navel to mouth.
With a pirouette and a scattering of sand, Sanji landed in front of her and grabbed Cockspur in his arms, keeping him well away from his own manly bits, and the rooster soothed right down. The hens rushing from one side of the pen to the other halted and clucked contentedly, grubbing the earth. Some returned to their nests (some had never left), and some tugged at Sanji's trouser leg, ready to lead him to the day's best choice.
A group jumped and fluttered off a heaving mound. Usopp sat up, coughing, and when he dusted himself down, the hens hopped away. He touched a finger to his neck and pulled a feather from his mouth. Wiped blood on his overalls.
"Nami?" Sanji asked.
"I only wanted some feathers to make a headdress for O-Tama."
Sanji looked down at the rooster in his arms. "Surely you could spare a few feathers, Cockspur?" He pulled two from the indignant, but not fighting, rooster's tail and passed them Nami's way.
"Thank you, so, so, so much, Sanji-kun."
A hen from the cluster near Usopp's feet flew a few metres to roost and clucked loudly, flapping wings and clacking beak towards the thing that Usopp held.
Sanji, unlit fag drooping from his mouth and still petting the rooster, sauntered over. He took the gizmo before Usopp protested, opened it, and eggs? A swell of clucking consumed the henhouse. Nami covered her ears.
"And a cake!" Usopp said. "We wanted to make Tama a cake!"
"Why not ask me?"
"She asked that her old crusty uncle and fashionably, forever-young, big sis’ do it!" Nami didn't quite throw Usopp under the bus. "We just wanted to have some fun."
Sanji looked at the device suspiciously. "This is perfectly shaped for eggs." He turned it again, viewing it from all angles. "And well used." He pocketed it. It'd be useful in the future. And he needed the eggs.
He turned to Nami. "Bring Tama to the kitchen."
Twenty kilometres from the Straw Hat headquarters, Zoro turned his drink. A one-eyed rooster with a wicked green comb pecked leftover crumbs from the counter in front of him.
"I said, lead me back home." Zoro took a swig. "Not the pub." The rooster stared right at him. Yeah, not that Zoro was complaining. That drop was nice. He ordered a bottle to go and slid it into the wicker basket. Another four rested inside. It'd take some time to get back to HQ. He might need them.
"Yeah, guess you've got a point." He took another drink. Wasn't really complaining. Cook would be mad though. "Or maybe you got us lost." Zoro scratched the back of his head. "You remind me of someone." For the life of him, he couldn't think who.
Coq au vin and chicken mornay graced the table that night. Tama's cake for dessert was a hit. Zoro didn't know what he was missing out on.