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The sun overhead was a pale coin in a steel gray sky as morning dawned on the Grand Line. Penguin’s bare feet dangled over the side of the freshly mopped deck of the Polar Tang as he watched the hulking shape of the ship in the distance.
It was pleasantly chilly that morning, and the breeze that gusted across his ankles had a real bite to it. The sparkle of the spyglass aimed in his direction had a decidedly sharp edge as well.
Penguin waved cheerily in its direction and received the customary middle finger from the distant observer. He smiled. It was becoming a morning ritual at this rate. They’d been moored off the small ring of summer islands for four days now while their log pose set, and they’d had unexpected company for the last three–the Victoria Punk, of all ships.
As Penguin pondered the other vessel, a news coo drifted down from the featureless blanket of clouds. It settled onto the railing and cocked its head at him. He mirrored the gesture and offered the last sardine on his breakfast plate. The bird preened coyly for a moment then snatched the little fish. When it was done downing the food, it reached into its carrier pouch and deposited the day’s news by his hand. He picked it up.
Helmet. Wild hair. Muscles.
Penguin stared. It was the local edition of the paper again. He’d not ordered it, but for some reason it kept coming since the day after they’d moored there. And again, the front page photo was an arresting image of a familiar person. He looked up at the bird, meaning to ask why they were receiving this unasked for service or to at least request a copy of the Grand Line news this time, but it had already taken flight, leaving him with a bright splash of blue helmet, blond hair, and bulging biceps.
This was the third time the infamous pirate had featured in the news, and in full color to boot now. Killer, first mate of the Kid Pirates, sure seemed to be making an impression in the area.
Penguin’s eyes trailed over the broad chest with something between annoyance and wistfulness. It had only been a few months since Sabaody, but already the other man seemed several sizes larger. He raised his own arm and flexed it, sighed.
Penguin got up, stretched and collected his plate, then made his way down into the guts of the sub. As was usual in the early morning hours, he found his bleary-eyed captain hunched over the small desk in his quarters surrounded by empty coffee cups.
“Did you know that when people don’t answer their doors, they don’t want to be bothered?” Law said as he entered, eyes still intent on the book before him.
Penguin strolled over to the desk and began confiscating mugs.
“Sometimes, people even knock.”
Penguin bent down and teased a teaspoon out from under a dog-eared medical journal. He straightened. After a pause, he said, “Up.”
Law’s eyes finally left the page. Despite his obvious fatigue, a bit of heat kindled in the golden depths.
“I am your captain. In the future–”
“You’re sitting in potatoes.”
Law followed his gaze down to the seat of the chair where a tray of half-eaten dinner from the night before was spilling over the sides. The so-stated captain of the Heart Pirates did not have the good grace to look even the slightest bit embarrassed.
“Ah. So that’s where that went…” he remarked coolly. But he did get up. While Penguin rifled in the storage chest by the bed for some fresher clothes, Law stripped and handed him his pants. As he did, he snagged the newspaper that Penguin still had under his arm.
“Anything of interest?” he asked, leafing through it.
Killer’s prominent chest bobbed with every turn of the page.
“Uh… It’s, um, just the local paper.”
“Again?” Law turned it back over and glanced at the front page. He raised his eyebrow at the photo spread.
“I don’t know why it keeps coming…”
“Well…” Law said, taking the offered pair of sweatpants, “it does remind me.”
Penguin tore his eyes away from the sculpted pecs. What did the man do to build muscle that quickly?
“Eustass called. He wants to meet. Some kind of information exchange.”
“Seriously?”
Law shrugged. “Maybe they’re as bored as we are. The log pose here takes far longer than other routes to set. There’s not much to do but wait.”
“You think it’s legit?”
Another shrug. “That’s why I’m sending you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I’d send you anyway, but he actually mentioned you in particular. Said it’s to be ‘between Killer and the bird’.”
Law turned and was about to sit back down in the now-cleared chair, but Penguin had anticipated this and was already between him and the desk. “Pants,” he said again, pointing at the clean pair while ushering his captain towards the bed.
After one last longing look at the mugs Penguin had confiscated, Law flopped onto the mattress. He yawned as he got one foot through a leg of the sweatpants.
“Go and see what they want, but have Shachi run cover. Watch your ass.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Penguin said, hands full of stained cups and squashed cottage pie but brain somewhere between blond hair and biceps.
***
White walls, glossy blue roofs, little dockside cafes… Even filled with gunfire and yelling marines, the quaint little island had a kind of charm to it.
Penguin admired the town from a discreet distance as he kept himself shadowed in a doorway while he observed the chaos filling the streets. It was the appointed time and the appointed place was just ahead. The appointed person, however, seemed busy throwing marines through windows.
“Maybe I should help him,” Penguin mused aloud.
“Nah,” came the easy reply from the tiny Den Den Mushi he had tucked away in his boiler suit. He could just make out the sparkle of Shachi’s binoculars from one of the nearby buildings.
“It’s his own fault for having his mug plastered across the paper for the last three days.”
Penguin was well aware. He had all three copies in his storage chest on the Tang. Just for record keeping, of course. Still, it felt rather rude to just watch. With a quick check of his gear and signal to Shachi, he made his way over to the cafe.
His approach was careful and took a circuitous route to the charming little eatery, but he was eventually noticed by both Killer and an overenthusiastic ensign. The latter he sidestepped and cracked gently on the back of the head with the butt of his spear as he passed.
Killer nodded at him and dispatched his own immediate opponents with rather more violent efficiency. The Kid Pirate then picked something up from a nearby table and made his way over. He stopped in front of Penguin, towering and imposing, his broad chest stretching the blue punk band t-shirt so tightly that even Penguin’s very healthy imagination had little to do.
“You came.”
“I did.”
“You…”
“Penguin,” Penguin said helpfully.
“I know who you are.”
They stood there in awkward silence for a moment. A marine with appalling aim helpfully broke it for them. Killer made short work of him as well, then cleared his throat. Instead of speaking, though, Killer suddenly lifted his arm. There was something large and solid-looking gripped in his fist. Penguin tensed, feet shifting subtly for a dodge if he had to move quickly. The blow never came, though, and the object–a brown paper bag–swayed in front of his face. Red-colored gore dripped from one corner onto the cobblestones of the square.
“This is for you.”
Penguin watched, entranced, as the red material continued to dribble out.
“For…me?”
Killer seemed to hesitate. He lowered the bag and cleared his throat again.
“Heat said since you’re a guy and guys gotta eat, it’d be a safe bet.”
When Penguin didn’t have a response to this, he then gestured at one of the few cafe tables that wasn’t overturned. On the table were several items: a bottle, a bouquet of flowers, and a box. “But Wire said I should hedge my bets.”
“I see,” said Penguin, though he didn’t.
Killer took a step closer and held the bag up once more. “Choose,” he said, with the kind of intensity that made marines pee their pants and Penguin’s stomach dance.
“Oh man, oh man…! Pick the box! Pick the box!” the miniature transponder snail chattered softly from his pocket.
Penguin looked over at the table for some time, then back to Killer. “I thought this was…”
An enterprising lieutenant threw a hatchet at them. Penguin distractedly batted it away.
“Like, aren’t we supposed to…”
Two surprisingly spry petty officers (surprising considering the size of their cudgels) leapt down from the roof of a nearby general store and tried to subdue Killer by removing his head. The subsequent slugfest gave Penguin a few much-needed seconds to try and process the situation. By the time Killer had put his boot into the second man’s ribs, he thought he might have the shape of it, but gunfire cut him off before he could speak. Killer made quick work of those fellows too, and when he returned, his mask had a fine spray of blood across it. It looked pretty cool, Penguin had to admit.
Killer looked down at him. Penguin looked up.
“I get it,” Killer said.
He reached out and seized Penguin by the elbow. The Kid Pirate’s grip was firm, but there was zero killing intent in the move, so Penguin allowed it. What Killer said next threw him so off balance that he didn’t resist even when Killer began to pull him into the cafe.
“I’m supposed to buy you a drink first.”
The Den Den Mushi in Penguin’s pocket burbled with laughter. He caught the tail end of Shachi’s gleeful, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…” before the door slammed shut behind them.
***
“So, get any good intel?” Law inquired, over what was likely his sixth additional cup of coffee that day.
Penguin stood in the doorway of Law’s quarters and considered how to answer this. He’d returned to the Polar Tang arms laden with a bottle, flowers, box, and a few red stains on his boiler suit from an excellent ragu. He’d spent the better part of an hour in the cafe with Killer and had emerged rather more knowledgeable about certain matters than he’d ever dreamed of. He didn’t, however, think that information would be of much use to his captain.
“Why are you grinning like an idiot? What’s the report?”
Penguin cleared his throat. “This island has decent wine, the local flora suggests that we might be able to replenish our medicinal herb supplies here, and that marine commander of the northern strait you thought might be trouble is out of the picture.”
Law raised an eyebrow.
“Permanently.”
Shachi passed by then on his way to the galley. “Told you the box had the good stuff!” he called cheerfully. “But not as good as–”
Penguin kicked him in the seat of his pants, and he went on his way with a laugh.
“That’s it?”
“...That’s it.”
Law narrowed his eyes. “Eustass called us out for that? What’s his game?”
Penguin pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling vent. “The Kid Pirates are headed for the spring isles next. We could follow them and find out,” he suggested innocently.
“Why is your face red?”
“Fighting marines is hot work.”
“Then why are you wearing the suit with the collar up?”
“Professional pride in the uniform.”
Law continued to eye him suspiciously, but Penguin swept in and began to clear his desk of empty dishes before he could question him further. As he was leaving, arms stacked precariously high with coffee cups, Law called out to him.
“By the way. Another copy of the local news came. Seems they printed out an emergency bonus edition after you left.”
Penguin schooled his face into careful blankness. “Oh?”
Law tossed it at him, and he had to maneuver awkwardly to catch it on top of the pile without spilling cups everywhere. He looked down. There, plastered across two full pages, was a color spread of Killer and himself.
The glossy, very clear photograph showed him and Killer emerging from the cafe. All around them were sparks of musket fire from the marines’ second attempt to capture the Massacre Soldier as well as a shower of color from the windowsill flower pots that had exploded in the barrage, raining pink and yellow petals over them like confetti. With Penguin’s arms full of his own flowers, it looked disconcertingly like a wedding.
To make matters worse, while Killer looked every bit a pirate about to do some copious amounts of property damage, Penguin was decidedly less threatening. His hat was askew, his clothes disheveled, and his boiler suit collar conspicuously open. The red flush across his cheeks and dazed look on his face suggested either a terrific night out…or a terrific night in.
Law was looking at him sternly over steepled fingers. “As your captain, I have to say that fraternizing with rival crews is generally unadvised.”
Then he flashed Penguin a grin. “But, I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep an eye on them. Tell Bepo to set a course for the spring isles. Seems like you’ve got more work to do.”
The End (or the Beginning...)