Chapter Text
The mansion was both a terrifyingly familiar mistress and a complete and scary stranger to Sabo. Adjusting had very much the same kind of feel. On one hand, the ridiculous posturing and casual display of wealth was something he was very well accustomed to. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t terribly surprising.
He saw it in the way he barely blinked anymore at the rows and rows of extravagant food and finely aged wine. He knew it in the almost instinctual way he likened cruelty with more power– the more bastardly the noble, the more likely Mother would metaphorically kiss their feet. He recognized it in the branded fabric and shrewdly-sewnd carpets that, if caught on the light just right, would sparkle with an unnatural shine.
Unnecessary, a voice hissed deep within him. Scathing. But the easy waste of precious minerals was something he was used to. Why should he care if the World Nobles decided to splurge their vast amounts of berries on useless things? It wasn't coming out of his hide, he knew. So no, such things rarely bothered him.
On the other hand, he felt somewhat like these people were a tad too arrogant(well, duh. Of course they were). He would never say it outright, that was much too bold, but the so-called “gods” were quite ignorant.
And sure, the Holy Land was beautiful. He’d be a fool to say otherwise. But as Sabo explored more and more– well as much as he had access to– he came to the startling realization that there were no books in Mariejois. Not even a newspaper clipping. There was no easy way to acquire outside information. At least in Goa, the News Coo flew in on a consistent schedule. Most times, Sabo was even allowed to read it. He supposed Mother thought it would help him to understand the intricacies of foreign positions of power. She prided herself in knowing what everyone else did not. Sabo wasn't certain how exactly— she rarely partook in reading herself— but regardless, she always seemed to have the answer.
Which is why he was so puzzled. Why would Mother approve of moving to a place devoid of outside stimuli? It didn't make sense. Then again, very little did here. Sabo had assumed, more than expected, that his mother’s family would be just as tenacious and just as formidable as the woman herself. But, Aunt Wassme and so many of the other Celestial Dragons he had come across were quite frankly, dumb fools. He wasn’t afraid to admit it.
When he’d originally left Goa Kingdom, Sabo thought at least something would be different. Maybe it wouldn’t be good different, but it wouldn’t be the same monotone dimness of graying landscape. But Sabo was wrong. It seemed different, at least on the surface. But the gilded lily had now been encased within jewels to the point it must have been fake to even remain living.
These nobles didn’t just not care about the struggles of others . They dressed up their indifference in their too cheery greetings and too stiff, gloved as always, handshakes.
Mariejois was different indeed, in the way the gray had lightened into painfully blinding white.
He doubted the Celestial Dragons were intelligent enough to realize their disdain came across very clearly to anyone with eyes. The honeyed politeness they were so proud of only drew more attention to their lies.
But even then, he was… hesitant to utter his opinions aloud. The sole reason for that was Ezze, his great, great grandmother. The Dragon(ess?) was deceptively calm and horrifyingly sharp. This, Sabo supposed, was where his mother must have gotten her own competency.
True to his word, Sabo had visited Ezze the second day. She had beckoned him, smiled warmly and cooed at his baby-face—all the while, settling him down for tea and sharing with him the real reason the Hendrixes were in such a bind.
There was, allegedly, a substance of extreme worth hidden within Pangea’s pearly walls. Sabo had known for a long time that his mother’s family was greedy. How could they not be, to be so successful? Often, respect correlates with want. That’s what Mother always said, at least. And Sabo believed it. If you want something bad enough, you’ll stoop to any low to obtain it. And here, in the Holy Land, there was usually a reason why the shadiest noble had the most money to spare.
His family had, much to Ezze’s chagrin, made too many obvious moves to take the valuable item, resulting in a ban from Pangea Castle, and subsequently, the purchasing of the mystery substance. They were vials, Ezze told him. Vials filled with shiny, diamond-like liquid that looked almost like ice mixed in with its hints of blue and silver. It was supposedly mind-blowing in its beauty, but exceedingly rare and hard to acquire. Even Ezze didn’t know where the liquid came from, and that surprised Sabo.
And intrigued him.
He wondered briefly, why he was being told these things and not his mother. Ezze had shared with him a tight, little smile when he’d asked. Her answer was simple: there were too many eyes on the wayward Hendrix returning to the Holy Land. She was too well known in certain circles to go unnoticed into Pangea’s Castle. Sabo however, had no such restraints. Being relatively unknown and more importantly, a young child, it would be easier for Sabo to sneak into forbidden places, rousing notably less suspicion than if an adult were to do the same thing. It was a simple answer, but Sabo had an inkling that it wasn’t the honest answer. He’d seen the way Ezze had looked at Mother when they arrived. It was a look of disdain and disappointment, so strong that Mother’s unwavering resolve had crumbled like wet paper.
Privately, Sabo thought that Ezze’s reasons were more personal than she was claiming. But, what was he going to do about it? Should he even do anything about it? Probably not. Whether it was a good thing or not, he had formed a tentative alliance with Ezze. Going behind her back(too soon, at least) would be a recipe for disaster. It was too much of a risk.
(Besides, as long as he was Ezze’s mouthpiece, Mother relied on him for information. She smiled at him and maybe even loved him. That was more than enough of a reason to not tell Mother about Ezze’s potential ulterior motives.)
It had been almost two years since that discussion. Ezze had warned him that things like this took time, but he hadn’t quite believed it until the first year had come and gone without so much as a whisper of a plan. It drove Sabo insane, the inaction. How could his grandmother expect him to be anything other than restless after delivering to him such a crucial task and role? Mother had certainly never waited this long to tell him exactly what was expected of him. Never would she give him so much time to ponder solutions, either. Quick and efficient was her way. Sabo had never even considered that there was another, and much slower, way to solve problems. It just seemed so… pointless. But, he had to trust that Ezze had a plan. For as much as he respected the teachings of Hendrix Didit(who had recently reclaimed her maiden name, leaving Sabo as one of the only two remaining Outlooks until he proved himself otherwise), it was Saint Ezze’s calculating patience that scared him far, far more.
Sabo likened it to staring down into the ocean’s depths, unsure of what lay just below the surface or at what time it would see fit to surge up from the deceptively calm waters.
So no, despite the gnawing unease sitting in his stomach, Sabo did nothing to challenge Ezze’s word. He was sure that if he did, it would be at his own expense.
Instead, he did his best to familiarize himself with the layout of Mariejois, the almost laughable positions of the gods’s scattered security, the fastest back alley routes between mansions in case he needed to sneak off for an errand(because that’s what his grandmother called his weekly to bi-weekly tasks to prove his loyalty), and just for his own personal use, every quiet and secluded place he could find to just… think. To get away from it all. Places where the stress of his family’s expectations were lost on him, and he could relax without the constant pressure and anxiety of “did I do it right? Is she mad at me? Have I proved myself yet?”
Those were Sabo’s secret moments. When he escaped from the stifling cycle of condescending tips of a top hat and “tut tut” of posh, glossy lips.
But as much as his private breaks provided him relief, Sabo was an adventurer at heart. The pirate book he kept under his pillow regaled him with tales of mystery and truths that he couldn’t help but project onto his own miserable existence in hopes of adding some thrill to his life. Not that pretending was difficult. There were still places in Mariejois that Sabo couldn’t reach. The security was more sturdy in these areas, and more suspicious than that, his fellow World Nobles tended to unsubtly redirect his attention every time he asked about certain staircases half buried in the ground or the restricted sections in town where heavy metal bars blocked his view of the ever elusive other side.
“Maybe when you’re older,” one nobleman scoffed. “But even then, it isn’t a place for former surface-dwellers. ”
That’s what they liked to call them. Surface-dwellers. Because their feet had touched human soil, Sabo’s family was less pure than those bearing the winged ankles of Mariejois’s gods. He’d like to think it didn’t bother him much. Being compared to humans, as a human himself, was hardly something to be ashamed of, but an insult was an insult. It still stung like one, anyway. It was times like this where he felt the most childish, but he couldn’t help it.
“So what? Your feelings got hurt, boy?” his father would say, a dark sneer on his face and a punishing grip on his bicep. “Get over it, or I’ll give you something serious to cry about.”
He’d considered telling Saint Ezze of Outlook III’s threats. His mind would wander and he’d fantasize visions of his grandmother raising a wrathful typhoon to oppose his father. She’d fight for him, in those daydreams. She wouldn’t ignore the bruises on his jaw and arms or pretend not to notice when he shied away from touches near his ribs. She’d grab his father’s raised hand before it struck, force him down until he was just another smear under her stiletto heel and then turn to Sabo and say “I took care of it”. Or, it didn’t have to be like that at all. Anything would work, really. He wasn’t picky. All he knew was that in his mind, Ezze wouldn’t be like Mother, who knew but didn’t care enough to help him. Who sometimes forgot her own strength and scarred him just as badly with bloody nails and slaps calculated to humiliate rather than harm.
But surely, his grandmother had noticed, right? Even if he had to hide his wounds, they were still painfully visible, weren’t they? They sure felt like they were. Sabo couldn’t imagine that they weren’t glaringly obvious to anyone looking in his direction. But maybe they weren’t, he didn’t know. One time, during one of their sessions, Sabo thought his grandmother might have seen something. She’d said “Outlook III is a beast of a man,” and there was a flicker in her eye, something disgusted but wholly unconcerned, but he must have imagined it. He didn’t want to have to break apart his fragile daydream if she had truly known and dismissed him anyway.
Sabo wondered if it was strange that he was so attached to his grandmother when he had truthfully only known her for a short period of time. At least, a short time compared to how long he’s known his own mother, whose opinion on her son, he has learned not to expect in any favorable capacity. On all other things, sure. His mother was the best of the best, he knew. Everything she taught him had a purpose. Everything she taught him was useful. She wouldn’t waste her time on useless subjects. That, Sabo trusted. That, he could predict. But when it came to her own flesh and blood, he was much more cautious with his assumptions.
It’s not like that anymore, he thought viciously. Not as long as Ezze needs me.
And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? It’s no wonder he held Ezze in such high esteem, if it was her opinion that shaped his mother’s eye. He wasn’t bitter nor disillusioned with their love. They were similar in that way. Love was a sparse, fleeting thing besides. In his lifetime, Sabo had only earned a fraction of their love, but that fraction was enough to last him several lifetimes. A dog that has known nothing more than scraps its whole life could not fathom the taste of a richly marinated steak, after all.
In a noble’s world, nothing is unconditional, not even love. So, Sabo did his best to tread lightly on topics that were controversial at best and horrendously offensive at worst.
Sabo set down his teacup gently, making sure the fragile clink of the china was as soundless as possible, as was proper etiquette. Saint Ezze sat across from him, dressed fancily in a baby blue shawl and blouse, having stripped off the standard white jumpsuit long before he’d arrived that afternoon. She gestured a gloved hand at the teapot, a question. He nodded politely, and she poured him another half cup.
Sabo had been given a jumpsuit himself, but avoided wearing it as long as permitted. He just didn’t see the appeal. For gods, they sure dressed strangely. They may look down on the common folk, but at least in the Four Blues, they wore sensible clothing. Luckily, his grandmother seemed to agree with that perspective and encouraged him to wear more normal clothing. Each session, she presented him with a new, handpicked outfit in a dark shade of blue, green, or maroon, to his immense relief. Though mysteriously, as time went on, the number of frills around his collar seemed to increase in tandem. He dared not say a word of protest, but if this kept up, he feared it would soon prove difficult for him to breathe.
He picked at his collar idly and took another sip of tea.
“Grandmother,” he started cautiously, their first conversation this week, “do you perhaps know why some areas are restricted to me?”
Ezze glanced up from her own cup. “To you alone?” she questioned. It sounded like a challenge. But of course it was, Ezze knew practically everything.
“Um. Yes?” He shook the diffidence from his tone. Grandmother didn’t like it when he was timid. “Yes. I am the youngest on Mariejois.”
Grandmother blinked at him lazily and clasped her hands in front of her, leaning forward. Sabo swallowed.
“True,” she murmured, “but wrong. You are not herded from such areas because of your age, child. You are a-”
“A surface-dweller,” he interrupted, and his heart almost stopped. But Ezze only raised an eyebrow, a barely perceptible warning in her eye, before moving on.
“Yes. A surface-dweller. There are some things you would not be able to comprehend about the inner workings of Mariejois, not being raised here since birth.” She didn’t say it at all harshly, but Sabo heard judgment in her voice all the same. It frustrated him, her blasé attitude. The dismissal, the certainty that surely, he couldn’t comprehend.
“I can comprehend anything, given time,” he insisted. It was borderline accusatory, just a touch too bold, but he’d been speaking with Ezze for quite some time now, and suspected she enjoyed some of his more fiery comments. He doubted she’d ever get any opposition otherwise. But it was a dangerous risk to play, even for him. This is why it was always so hard to converse with the upper class. It always felt like navigating a minefield– any careless, offhand remark could intrude on something sacred, and Sabo could never quite tell which remarks were ones he’d do best to avoid. Interruptions were wrong, but confidence was expected. Rule overlapping rule overlapping rule. It made his head spin, most days.
Ezze watched him through half-lidded eyes, assessing his resolve, he suspected. She let out a quick, dignified breath out through her nose.
“So it seems.”
Sabo felt his shoulders untense. He’d chosen correctly.
“But don’t presume to know all of that of which you speak, Grandson. The secrets of Mariejois can be cruel sometimes, you understand?”
Of course he did. Grass was green, Sea Kings were dangerous, and nobles were cruel. It was just how things were. He nodded.
Ezze sighed, but leaned back. She was critical, but not unreasonable. “Then listen well, child, for I’m giving you another assignment. This one, you will speak of to no one.” Sabo nodded frantically, his entire focus shifting to catch the words falling from her tongue.
Finally.
By the time he left, instructions carved into his skull, his tea had long since gone cold.
–
Sabo’s birthday fell earlier in the year, in March, and as a seven year old going on eight in a little over three months, he already felt well on his way to adulthood. He could act like an adult, he could walk like an adult, he was fairly certain he could out-smart most of the adults residing in the Holy Land, physical body aside. But, as Ezze liked to remind him, being a child had perks in its own right. Sneaking into small, tight spaces being one of them.
Thanks to the heavy layer of snow blanketing the ground, many of the World Nobles were forced to seek warmth and shelter from inside the comfort of their mansions. Few would be brave enough, or tolerant enough, to be out and about in this weather. This, she’d reasoned, was the opportune time to act.
And with those two important factors put into play, tonight was the night Sabo was to run his errand.
It wasn’t hard to sneak out of his room. His mother and father were hardly ones for staying up late and had no desire to come in and check on him after lights out. He didn’t even have to sneak down the hallways– there was a perfectly situated window in his room he could climb out of. He did have to move his desk chair under it, seeing as he was too short to jump the entire way, but the latch was simple enough to unlock. The general consensus here was that if you were already in the Holy Land, you were a god. Because mortals must be too oblivious to notice the giant white palace in the sky. Then again, it wasn’t as though the Celestial Dragons left this elevation much, so maybe the common folk actually didn’t have a clue where the World Nobles lived.
Or perhaps it was the change in oxygen levels that dissuaded intruders from the journey. There sure wasn’t an abundant amount of guards or advanced security measures surrounding Mariejois. Sabo thought it arrogant, and that was being generous. While it was true that the trip was strenuous on one’s body, and definitely an adjustment from the East Blue’s altitude, there had to be those that were desperate enough not to care about the toll on their bodies.
If he ever descended back to the ground, he imagined himself prancing around like gravity was a falsity. That was probably the real reason for the ugly astronaut suits. The Celestial Dragons were secretly into space roleplay.
He chuckled softly aloud, careful not to make too much noise, and peered around the wall at the armed guards patrolling the golden gates. The snow was falling faster now. It made it harder for Sabo to walk, but he recognized it as a blessing in disguise. It would cover his tracks, at the very least, before morning. Already, the trail behind him was being coated with another layer of powdered ice.
He eyed the distance. He was fast enough. Small enough to dart in before they could react. But, Sabo reminded himself, if they spotted him, it wouldn’t matter that he escaped. He had to get past without their knowledge. Like he was never there. If he was caught, if a guard identified even a lock of his blonde curls or tiny footprints, he could bring shame upon the Hendrixes, and by association, Saint Ezze.
In that case…
Sabo looked around, gaze falling on a vent a little further up. The metal plate was barely hanging on, and one side had completely lost the screws holding it together. It was also much too small to fit into. Unless you were a too scrawny kid with enough reckless determination to squeeze through, that is. Which Sabo totally was. But still, the edges looked sharp, even from a distance, and Sabo debated if it was worth it. He might get cut, or get over there only to discover he couldn’t fit. But… it wasn’t being watched whatsoever . It really was the perfect entry point.
Sabo chewed the skin along his bottom lip. Fine.
With a cursory glance back at the guards, he crouched low and made a beeline for the vent. The crunch of snow beneath his boot was unfairly loud to Sabo’s ears, but luckily no one else seemed to hear it. His heart was racing in his chest.
He slid safely in beside the gate, breaths coming out in small puffs.
That was terrifying. He grinned. But I did it.
Moving the rest of the grate would be much riskier than his dash past the guards, but on the bright side, it looked like Sabo would be able to squeeze through. It would be a bit restricting, but not impossible. Slowly, painfully aware of every creak of the metal, Sabo shimmied through the vent.
As soon as he was through, he was moving. He put as much space between his person and the clanging vent as he dared before stopping and listening for shouts. But, Sabo heard only silence. He brought his hands up to his face and pressed them into his eyes for a moment.
Thank Oda.
The other side was disgustingly unremarkable. The same snow blanketed the other side of the gate, the same buildings spotted the edge of the road(even if the way they caught the moonlight was far more menacing over here). The only difference was the lighting. Dim lamps lit up the darkness, spaced out just enough that there was about a foot of shadow in between each pole. They continued down farther than Sabo could realistically see. Who knows? They might very well just go on forever. It was more than a little unnerving.
Sabo drifted down the path, fitting for what was for all intents and purposes, a ghost town. A part of him begged to turn back and forget about Ezze’s instructions, despite his burning curiosity. But, there was something here. Something that the other World Nobles didn’t want him to find. Something Ezze had sent him toward, fully expecting that what he uncovered would be mind-altering. How could he resist such tantalizing temptation?
As he ventured further in, the houses started to become increasingly more rundown, or more accurately, unattended. There were no truly slummy buildings in Mariejois, but the ones surrounding him now seemed to have been there so long, they withered to dust upon their thrones. It reminded Sabo of a story he once read about a tyrannical king so disillusioned with obedience and his own definition of loyalty, that he’d gotten rid of every single one of his would be followers. And then, well. If he no longer had a kingdom to rule over, he wasn’t really a king anymore, either. It had to do with a theory called the karmic balance, but Sabo hadn’t gotten to studying the more philosophical titles yet, so he didn’t quite understand the reference.
He found himself in a strange horse-shoe shaped clearing. The only buildings around were the one he was currently hiding behind and another to his far right. Neither made a sound. A little bit in front of them, maybe four feet, Sabo’s eyes caught on a large, metal box. Remarkably, it didn’t look all that out of place in the snow. It was rustic and still– a picture of stagnation, perfectly preserved in the chill.
Sabo drew in his brow and took a step forward. Then another. As he got closer, he noticed the box had wheels on all four corners and some sort of connection device on one end. A trailer, then. There was a small window, though it was much too high for Sabo to realistically see through. He doubted even jumping would work– his fingers would barely scrape the bottom ledge.
That was unfortunate, but not world-ending. He could still inspect the outside. Sabo experimentally laid a palm on the surface of the trailer. With a cry, he yanked his hand back, cradling it on his warm stomach. The metal was freezing . If they kept any animals in there, they definitely didn’t anymore. It, along with the rest of the haunting town, had most likely been empty for quite some time now. With a sigh, he set his eyes back on the path. He probably wasn’t far enough in yet to find whatever he needed to find. There wasn’t any use investigating the long gone. He would leave this morbidly beautiful piece in its unaltered state.
Bang!
A shot, loud as a bullet blasted the inner wall of the trailer. Sabo startled badly, heart jumping into his throat and almost shattering his ribcage in its haste. He scrambled away from the trailer, boots kicking up loose clouds of snow, and he tripped. Sprawled on the ground, his eyes grew wider and wider when he realized the bangs weren’t stopping. They weren’t slowing, either. In fact, they were getting faster.
Bang…Bang… Bang. Bang bang bang bang. BANG!
He was shivering. From the cold or something else, Sabo didn’t know. He swallowed. Wait, that… No, that didn’t make sense. Sabo tempered his breathing and listened carefully. He turned his head from side to side, but the result was the same: the sound was coming from the trailer. Inside the trailer. Impossible, his mind refuted. Nothing could survive that thing. And yet…
The banging continued, and Sabo scooted closer, not yet getting up. Oh Seas, what if someone was trapped in there? No matter how frightening the initial sound was, his sense of justice wouldn’t let him just leave them there.
Sabo stumbled to his feet, pushing away his apprehension and jogging back up the short distance to the box. He had almost reached it, mouth opening to call out, when:
“I know you’re out there, you hag!”
Sabo flinched, body instinctively dropping back to the ground. He could feel the cold prickle under his gloves. That was a boy’s voice. A furious, loud, desperate voice.
“You can’t just leave me here, dammit!” A pause. “Don’t you dare fucking ignore me!"
More banging followed, too hard and metallic to be from the meat of fists alone. Maybe the boy was kicking it?
“I said,” bang. “to stop,” bang. “damn fucking ignoring me!”
And all of a sudden, Sabo’s mind went blank, all of Mother and Ezze’s teachings flying from his head from the sheer randomness of the situation, or perhaps the cold really was getting to him, but the only thing he could think was: But… he didn’t?
Sabo squinted up at the window, made up his mind, and cleared his throat politely. Because a little politeness went a long way, even when speaking to a disembodied voice inside a box.
“Um, mister?” he called. His voice took on the same echoing quality that the other boy’s had. The banging stopped. “You didn’t say damn the first time.”
It was silent for a moment, and Sabo wondered if he’d offended the voice, when:
“Who the hell are you?"
Well, that was rude.
“I’m Sabo. Who the hell are you?”
Sabo was kinda rude, too.
More silence.
“The fuck?”
“You curse a lot,” Sabo observed. He technically wasn't supposed to, himself, but he'd been returning a greeting. He'd read about it before. The correct term was Cultural Adaptation. Put simply: when meeting someone from another island for the first time, you must be prepared to speak their own language. In this case, the voice's greeting rolled off Sabo's tongue so naturally, it just had to be proper.
Mother never cursed. She said it wasn’t a refined way of speaking, and he shouldn’t try to integrate it within his own vocabulary. It was a type of speech reserved specifically for simpletons. Sabo asked why Father did it so much, then. Mother didn’t so much as blink as she informed him, “your father is a simpleton,” cold distaste and resignation dripping vitriol from her lips. That was the day Sabo realized his mother wasn’t married to Outlook III out of love. Or even necessity, honestly. He still didn’t know the full story of their conjunction, even seven or so years of his life later. He wondered if Mother was ashamed of it. But, if she had never married Outlook III, Sabo wouldn’t exist. Surely, Mother couldn’t regret all of it if Sabo was the byproduct of their union.
“You should mind your own business,” came the slightly delayed reply.
Sabo frowned. Mind his own…? But the voice was the one in danger. The voice wasn’t much of a voice until Sabo wandered over at all. If Sabo hadn’t been here, the voice probably would have stayed silent and given up. Speaking of which.
“What are you… doing in there?” he asked. It was concise, straight to the point, the perfect question.
“Oh, I’m just on fucking vacation, can’t you tell?”
Guess the voice didn’t think so. Sabo didn’t know why anyone would want to go on vacation in a trailer of all things, but what did he know? Sabo had been painfully aware that for the majority of his life, he lived in a completely different world than the lower class. If the boy in the box was lower class, as his constant cussing implied, it was perfectly reasonable to assume he did things differently from nobles. Maybe his family couldn’t afford to go anywhere fun, and he wound up stuck in a trailer on Mariejois. Well, that was admittedly a bit of a stretch.
“Vacation? In a box?” Sabo did his best to keep his tone steady and as non-judgmental as possible, but some of his incredulity must have leaked through because Sabo could practically feel the rush of sudden heat radiating from the other side of the wall.
“… are you messing with me?”
Sabo shook his head. Oh, he can’t see me.
“No.”
The voice didn’t answer, but there was a heavy thump from the inside, as if the boy had fallen over. Sabo tapped the side in concern.
“Hey, are you alright in there?” Sabo strained his ears, pressing his head as close to the metal sheet as he could without having to actually touch it. There was a muffled groan, and Sabo decided the mystery boy was definitely not alright.
“Um, do you need help getting out? Did you hit your head?”
“Oh, help, of course! How have I never thought of that before?” the boy mocked. Sabo leaned back a bit so his ears would stop ringing. He didn't have to shout. “Who, exactly, do you think could help me around here? You?”
It was a rhetorical question, Sabo observed. The boy obviously thought that Sabo was incapable. It reminded him too much of his earlier conversation with Ezze for comfort. Why was everyone assuming he was so… useless all the time? It couldn’t be his age, he had proven time and time over that age didn’t matter.
Sabo puffed out his chest in indignation. “Excuse you, I am perfectly capable of getting you out, all on my own,” he declared, with far more confidence than he actually felt.
“All on your own?” the voice parroted, sarcasm thick on his tongue.
“Yes!” Sabo insisted. Don’t be timid, don’t be timid, don’t be timid. “I’m pretty smart, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” the boy snarked back. Sabo almost recoiled. He knew that tone. He’d heard it again and again from his father whenever he messed up. It was a taunting, mocking thing. The kind of tone that screamed, I’m better than you, and I know more than you do, so just shut up and don’t talk back to me. Sabo wanted to shut his ears. Maybe he didn’t want to help the voice anymore. The voice was like Father. The voice was mean.
“Because I don’t know you. But what I do know is that just smarts isn’t enough to shatter an iron padlock, snap in half three sets of golden shackles, get me enough food to stop me from starving, heal my frostbite, or cure an incurable biological death sentence, believe me, I’ve tried. So you and your help can get lost and leave me alone.”
Oh. Or maybe, they weren’t so alike. Because the way the boy had said that last part was unlike how Outlook III said anything. Outlook III would never stoop so low as to let hopelessness or fear bleed into his voice. But here the voice was, exposed emotions and feelings spilling out all over the ground at Sabo’s feet, like they were equals, almost. Unconsciously humbling himself and trusting Sabo with this confession when Sabo had done nothing to earn it. It was strange, it was foolish, but Sabo felt warm inside like he’d never felt before.
Though Sabo couldn’t see him, he imagined the boy counting off on his fingers. Backwards, because that had sounded much too desolate to not end in anything but a closed fist. After he had gotten over the absurdity of the boy’s easy confession, the words registered in Sabo’s mind. Each word he’d said, each new gruesome ailment, tightened something deep within Sabo’s chest until he could scarcely even breathe. He didn’t know what set of circumstances would warrant the words shackles, starving, frostbite and death all bunched together, but whatever it was, it sounded bad. No, more than bad. It sounded painful and distressing and unjustifiably wrong . It was no wonder the boy had no qualms about sharing his struggles, they sounded pessimistic, even to him.
“Oh Seas!” Sabo gasped. It was a physical reaction, for him. He couldn’t stop it if he tried. He had always felt his emotions exceedingly strong. Mother knew and saw it as a hindrance above all else, but Sabo secretly loved that about himself. And he didn’t love much about himself. He could read story after story over and over again and, to some degree, actually feel the adventures come to life through the pages, even though he’d never gone out to sea, and most likely never would. But, he’d never read anything even remotely close to the anguish he felt churning inside him now. This emotion felt painful. The boy was hurting, he must have been, because Sabo felt it.
“That’s horrible!” Sabo exclaimed, because it was. “Now, I have to get you out of there!”
Another thud echoed through the structure. The boy had regained his composure quickly, seeing his voice didn’t waver whatsoever.
“Weren’t you listening, you idiot? I said you can’t help me!”
“No you didn’t,” Sabo argued back stubbornly. “You said I couldn’t do anything about it. Not that I couldn’t help you.”
“You’re so childish!”
“You’re a child, too!”
“You can’t even see me!”
“I can tell by your voice!” Sabo’s own voice cracked at the end, the tail end of emotion choking up his next words. Maybe the mystery boy heard it too, because he didn’t say anything more to defend himself. “And you shouldn’t-- oh seas, you’re just a kid, too! So, I wanna help you, even if I can’t do all the things you said, so you should stop wasting your breath trying to be mean to me, dismissing me, and saying I can’t do anything because doing something is always better than doing nothing!”
It took a second before the voice came back, but when it did, it seemed just slightly less monotone than before. A bit more unsure and vulnerable, like it was before. Or maybe, he was just guilty. But not guilty enough, it seemed, to keep out all of his derision.
“As a fellow kid?” the voice intoned dryly.
“Yes!” Sabo huffed anyway, and then ventured further. “And as a… as a potential friend.”
The boy went quiet. He was doing that a lot lately. Sabo hoped it didn’t mean anything bad.
“I don’t have friends anymore.”
“Then I’ll just have to be your first in a while,” Sabo retorted without missing a beat. Not that Sabo had ever had friends before, either. But, the boy didn’t need to know that. Sabo was a fast learner.
“You’re an idiot.” But the open hostility was absent this time, there was no bite in the boy’s contradicting words. Sabo counted that one as a win. But there was still something missing.
“Why don’t you have any more friends?” Sabo inquired bluntly, about as sensitive as a bull in a china shop.
“They died,” the voice answered, just as bluntly.
“Seas--” Sabo started, but the voice interrupted him.
“Oh, for the love of-- Seas this, seas that, just say fuck!”
Sabo choked, only to sputter out a string of incoherent syllables that was probably murder on the poor boy’s ears inside his echoey chamber. But, he couldn’t help it. No one had ever told him to swear before. It wasn’t gentlemanly. Or noble or nice or anything.
“You! That! That’s not-– That isn’t proper!” he squeaked at the box. He didn’t know why he was explaining himself, exactly. The boy’s opinion on swearing would hardly affect his own, but for the strangest reason, he felt compelled to answer. To argue, to keep the conversation going. It was… fun.
“Fuck your proper!” the boy whooped!
And then, the voice burst out with roaring laughter. It was a full, ringing sound that Sabo’s body viscerally reacted to, his shoulders untensing and his muscles loosening. It was the pure embodiment of sunlight and seashells and everything right and good in the world. And Sabo had caused it! He did! For once, Sabo had made someone else happy. And it wasn’t the same as when he made Mother happy or Ezze happy. Or even when he was happy, himself. There wasn’t any underlying doubts or anxiety or expectation of “how long will this last?” The laughter from the other boy, effectively a stranger, sent something exhilarating shooting down from Sabo’s head to his toes. It tingled, but not in a bad way. Sabo decided that he liked this feeling of happiness far more than the approval from the adults. If happiness was always like this, Sabo thought he might just spontaneously combust on the spot.
“You’re so strange, kid,” chuckled the voice.
“Sabo,” Sabo reminded him. “Remember? That’s my name. You never told me yours.”
“Didn’t I?” the voice teased. And Sabo knew it was teasing. He’d never been teased before, but he’d read about it. This kind of lighthearted jab was meant to be endearing instead of incriminating. And just like the laughter, it felt fun.
“Law,” the voice continued, before Sabo could get a word of affirmation in. “My name is Law.”
Sabo beamed.
“You’re not so bad, kid.”
He scowled.
“I told you--”
A resounding crash drowned out the rest of the words. And then, a gurgling groan shortly after. Sabo’s words got caught in his throat, and he immediately rushed up to the trailer, slapping his fists onto the metal shell helplessly.
“Law? Law!” he called frantically. “Did you hit your head? Are you okay? Law!”
“No,” Law hissed. Sabo could only just hear him whispering. “No, I’m fine.”
But, he didn’t sound fine. In fact, he sounded really strained.
“Hey,” Sabo said, slowing his fists, the euphoria from before fading fast. “We need to get you some help, now. Okay?”
There was a noncommittal hum from inside the box.
Sabo felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes, no matter how unbecoming it was. “I know people here who can help you. And… and I know they’ll know how to get you out.” He sounded too desperate, he knew. Mother would never approve. Under normal circumstances, it would never be allowed. But Law wasn’t a normal circumstance.
He felt around the edges of the trailer, searching for any sort of clasp or lever that would open the door to get Law out.
Maybe this is what Ezze had sent him to find. Maybe he was supposed to save the boy in the trailer. That made the most sense. But, if Ezze knew Law was here, why hadn’t she come herself? That way, Sabo wouldn’t have to run back and get help and then run all the way back before Law could be rescued.
“...hey, kid. You…why did you say you were here, again?” Law’s voice was quieter now and much more strained. Sabo wondered how hard he’d hit his head. He’d said he was fine, but his breathy tone more or less confirmed he’d been lying.
“I didn’t,” Sabo informed him gently, but then answered anyway because Law just had to know help was on the way. He had to know Sabo could be trusted and that his help could be trusted too, because otherwise he might refuse to be helped. He already almost had. But, Sabo didn’t think Law could last much longer in that trailer. They didn’t have the time to be contrary. His own fingers were starting to go numb from just being out in this weather.
“I’m here with my family. Don’t worry, I’ll let them know you’re here and they can save you. Grandmother is a very powerful person, after all.”
“...what kind of powerful person?” Law asked.
Sabo paused in his movements, still having not found any hidden mechanisms, and smiled reassuringly even though he knew Law couldn’t see it.
“Oh. A very powerful noble, I mean. A Celestial Dragon.”