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The baby hardly cried.
He gurgled and laughed and let out cheerful yells, but nothing beyond the occasional whimper alerted the crew to when he was upset or needed food or a diaper change. It made things difficult–more than the normal amount of difficulty of having a baby aboard a pirate ship.
After the initial shock, Roger had taken to him right away. The rest had followed suit shortly after. It hadn’t been a week before most of the crew had begun to fawn over the babe too.
It hardly came as a shock when the Captain proudly boasted that he’d be joining the crew.
His joy was infectious to the already rambunctious crew. He was passed from hand-to-hand and rarely spent a moment out of someone’s arms in the days since they had found him tucked away amongst a chest of stolen treasure. With no sleeping arrangements for him, they’d taken the chest they’d found him in and turned it into a makeshift bed, filling it to the brim with different types of clothing so he had something soft to sleep on–though he’d seemed to make no complaints about the jewels and gold he’d been on before–and unhinged the top to ensure it wouldn’t fall on him.
Traveling to the next island would take days, but the boy seemed happy as a clam with what little they were able to give him for the time being.
The boy, the baby, their little stowaway, was a treasure they had never known before–and he’d even come packaged as such. Shanks (if that truly was his name–it was scrawled on a note pinned to the onesie he’d worn that day) had become a part of their crew.
Still, others remained wary.
After escaping the Marines on their way out of God Valley, questions arose over why he’d been there and how he had gotten caught up in the mayhem of the battle in the first place.
“We might be kidnapping some Celestial Dragon’s kid!”
“Coulda been some slave kid–he branded?”
“You think they’d brand a baby? Not even the Celestial Dragons are that cruel!”
“What if he was with Rocks ‘n’ them? Y’think someone on his crew’ll come back for him?”
For as warmly as the Captain and his First Mate had warmed to the boy, their third had remained standoffish. Gaban had spent the last few days staring warily at the boy. He kept a distance when they were in the same room and hadn’t once offered to hold him when he was passed around.
It wasn’t entirely unusual. Gaban was known for being cautious of strangers. It normally took him a few days to warm up to the newcomers on the crew, even when Roger had allowed them on board and well after when the rest had begun to simmer.
“Gaban,” Rayleigh said. “We should talk about what’s bothering you.”
The man’s brows raised and he crossed his arms over his chest, but he made no move to rebuke the other man’s claim. He was bothered and his avoidance of the issue hadn’t done much in terms of hiding it. Gaban was true and loyal to all of his nakama aboard the Oro Jackson. Lower crew members had no problems talking to him about their problems and he was nothing if not helpful to Rayleigh, helping to ease the weight on the First Mate’s shoulders.
“It’s fine, Ray. I–” he sighed, turning to look out at the sea before them and walked further along the forecastle deck, towards the bow spirit. “I’m fine.” Ray seemed less than pleased with his answer though and followed a short distance behind him as they walked.
“The island my family comes from–” he began. He looked down as though he were embarrassed to say these things out loud. “--they’ve got sayings–legends–about redheads. They’re bad omens, Ray.” Rayleigh almost laughed. His lips ticked upwards, he inhaled, but he stopped short once he caught the serious expression on the other man’s face.
“Sailors have plenty of superstitions–”
“It’s not about superstitions, Ray. These are legends.”
Again, they seemed at an impasse. Rayleigh. “Alright, alright.” He leaned backwards against the railing and gestured with his hand, urging him to continue. “Tell me about these legends, then.”
Gaban appeared perplexed for a moment, as though he was unsure of sharing, before he lifted the sunglasses from his eyes. “It–” he sighed and used his shirt to clean them, but continued holding them in his hand when he was done and fiddled with the hinges. “How many people with red hair have you seen Rayleigh? Not redheads. That color of red.”
Rayleigh was silent for a moment as he considered the question. Surely he’d seen someone before…right? There weren’t many redheads in the world, sure, but–that color. It was unique. One of a kind, even.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“None. Or close to none.” Gaban answered for him. “The island I grew up on had ties to an ancestral one–Hardrada. We remained close, even after our ancestors left the homeland.” He shook his head. “Look–I–I’m not proud of this or anything. I know how it sounds.”
He looked almost ashamed, but Rayleigh wasn’t sure if it was because of his own thoughts or those of his ancestors. “Centuries ago there were bounties on the heads of those whose hair was that red. Legends say that it was stained red with blood. You were supposed to turn them into the Government and they’d…vanish.”
He could only imagine the things that were done once they were carted off. “My family’s island–the one we settled on–it was completely ransacked for hiding one of them during those days. Put the fear of the gods into the bloodline, I suppose…”
He trailed off, finally lifted his eyes from the sunglasses in his hands to find Rayleigh looking at him. The other man’s gaze was hard to read, but Gaban couldn’t find a hint of judgment behind it. Rayleigh had always been easy to trust with things–no matter how absurd. It made sense why Roger had chosen him.
“What would you do then? To the boy. Throw him overboard?”
The idea was so fantastical that Rayleigh expected an immediate denial but, instead, he found silence. Gaban’s hands continued fidgeting with the hinges of his sunglasses–open and closed, open and closed. “Gaban?”
“No. No. Of course I don’t think we should throw a baby overboard. I’m not a monster, Rayleigh.”
“I know you aren’t.”
Gaban’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed. “I know you tell Roger most things–but not this. Please, Rayleigh.”
He nodded and reached out to pat the other man’s arm before moving to stand beside him, both men leaning with their backs against the rails. “We’ll keep this between us. But it doesn’t answer what you’d like to be done.”
“Nothing. It’s off my chest and now–” he paused. “I’ll adjust. –Thanks.”
Another beat of silence. “Cute kid. Weird how happy he is, though, don’tcha think?”
“I suppose anything’s better than being stuck in a dark chest.”
Gaban hummed, nodding, and put his sunglasses back on with a sigh. Neither moved from their spot. Wind filled their sails and carried them towards their next destination where they would resupply and get what was needed for Shanks.
“We used to worship them,” he said flatly, after a beat.
“Worship who?”
“The Akagami.”