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Issho just could not understand the allure of the beach.
Certainly, the ocean was lovely, but Marines experienced the ocean nearly every day. The weather was usually hot, with few patches of shade, while the scent of sea plants and whatever fish were decomposing nearby adding their foul perfume to the salty air. Even the scent of grilling meat from somewhere to his left wasn’t enough to cover the stench.
The sound of shifting sand alerted him to someone’s approach. A hint of beard oil. Two people that could be, and he’d only heard one of them throw off their shoes just about as soon as this little “welcome meeting” got started.
“Vice Admiral Garp,” he said without turning. “How can I help you?”
“Just wondering what one of the guests of honor is doing over here by himself instead of waiting over there for the food to be ready,” Garp said, coming up and clapping the man on the shoulder with a grip like a bear trap.
“Will an honest answer to that get me in trouble?” Issho asked.
The hand left his shoulder. “Not with me, but I’d be careful around some of the others,” Garp said bluntly.
Well… that would be good to know. At least if he had to be out here, he should be able to learn a little more about the organization while he did it.
“I’m wondering why you have me here.”
“Your exploits are impressive,” Garp said.
“I’m just a guard from a small West Blue island,” Issho replied, remaining facing toward the breakers. “There was little cause for anyone to know who I was, and even less for all this.”
He heard Garp make a thoughtful sound, could hear the scratchy sound of him presumably rubbing his face where it was covered in hair. “Tell you what,” Garp said. “You do me one favor, and then I’ll answer some more of your questions.”
“What favor?” he asked, on guard.
Fabric whispered as Garp held it out, tapping loose folds of some light material against Issho’s elbow. “Put on something less stuffy. This is supposed to be a party.”
“Is that an order?”
“You forget, Admiral Fujitora,” Garp said, the beginning of a laugh in the words. “You outrank me.”
“I think we both know the paper that says that only tells half the story,” Fujitora replied evenly. “And I see no reason not to learn from your immense experience.”
“You mean my being old?”
“I wouldn’t presume to say it like that.”
“I would,” Garp replied. “It’s the truth. Come on. There’s a tent straight behind you. Change, and I’ll tell you what I can.”
With nothing else to say to that and in need of more information, Issho turned and walked until he felt the sun disappear overhead and the sounds of his own motion echoed back at him much louder than before. The tent. Very well. He reached back, found the flap and closed it before checking out the clothes Garp had given him.
Fine weave, if nothing else. No embroidery or anything else to give him some hint of what might be on the fabric. He hesitated another moment, then shrugged out of his comfortable if warm garb and into the new ones. Button front on the shirt. Light material. More appropriate for the beach, he supposed grudgingly. The other was a pair of pants, but the legs were truncated. So. Shorts then.
He still wasn’t sure what to make of anyone in this organization. His drafting was new, his appointment to this ludicrously high office even newer. Half the people he got pushed into a room with were deferential, sometimes even fearful, while the rest seemed irritated just to have him there. He supposed it made sense. The forces that led to the draft in the first place were hardly secret.
To follow that up by telling everyone who had survived that ill-advised execution that they weren’t good enough to become admirals, and to place two newcomers over them instead, would understandably sting.
He ran his fingers over the buttons and buttonholes on the shirt three times, making sure he had them lined up correctly, before folding his own clothing, replacing his weapon and heading back out into the glaring heat.
The little “welcome party” was in fact, very little. The newly appointed fleet admiral was holed up in his office - Issho, Ryokugyu and Kizaru had only ever received briefings in there. Issho knew the man had to be frightfully busy after the absolute shambles the Marines had been thrown into, but he’d also heard the slight grunt when the man stood up, the uneven weight of his steps, and suspected more than just chaos lingered from that turbulent time.
He had instead delegated the event (or at least Issho assumed he had. The alternative was that Garp and Sengoku had just brought three people who technically outranked them on a… a picnic or something, just because. And if that was the case, then maybe even the promised weight of the rank they’d given him wasn’t worth anything.
So it was the five of them, plus a few low-level officers who were taking care of the cooking and any errands that needed running. He could hear the tension in every word those poor souls uttered.
Hard to blame them, after what the world had seen about the battle at Marineford.
“Fujitora!” Garp’s voice cut through the chatter and the ambiance. “Come get something to eat.”
“Before he eats it all,” drawled a voice he associated with the one admiral who predated the whole Marineford mess.
Issho oriented on those voices and followed the thread of them, the babble of conversation growing louder. When the heat of the sand beneath his feet cooled somewhat, he paused and put a hand out until he found the table that was shading it.
Sliding into a seat, he heard a chuckle. Kizaru again.
“I must say, I didn’t expect to see you in something like that,” the man said.
He wondered if Kizaru meant the style or whatever patterns or colors he’d been handed. “My apologies,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen myself in anything, so I forget the impact I might have on others’ eyes.”
It was an apology and a dig at the same time, but Kizaru apparently took neither. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s not bad. Just surprising. Who-”
“Garp,” Sengoku said. While the man in question didn’t confirm this, the loud laughter was confirmation enough.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” another voice cut in - Ryokugyu, sounding as displeased with this whole trip as Issho himself felt. “It’s just tiger lilies.”
Issho suppressed a sigh. Garp’s laughter had been tapering off, but now it was back in full force. Even Kizaru made a little amused hum.
Ah well. As pranks on a blind man went, this one was fairly benign. He could even appreciate a good pun.
One thing he would say for them - whoever put the food together had done a decent job. The barbecue was good, the drinks were better, and for the moment at least, no one had overt expectations of him. While he felt sure the others were evaluating everything anyone said for whatever purposes they had, let them. They knew who he was when he was “invited” to join the Marines. Kizaru made teasing comments. Ryokugyu always seemed on the verge of snapping at someone. Garp found the whole thing hilarious and Sengoku said very little.
He started wondering if this was an escape for the two older men more than any actual welcome celebration.
Speaking of the older Marines, it took several hours for Garp to get around to keeping his promise. Issho was sitting at the table quietly listening to the rapid escalation between Kizaru, who teasingly said some things that could be considered an affront to the fleet admiral, and Ryokugyu, who was taking rather more offense on Sakazuki’s behalf than he thought Sakazuki could muster for himself at the slight. While he considered refilling his cup, he heard heavy footsteps approach from the left.
“Got a sec?” Garp asked.
Issho pushed to his feet and followed the man away from the spiraling argument and growing laughter, over to where the waves grew louder. He waited to see what the man wanted, but apparently the vice admiral wasn’t ready to be direct just yet.
“Man, I love the feeling of my toes in the sand,” Garp sighed.
For his part, Issho would always rather have something solid beneath his feet. He had been able to hear Garp coming on the sand because the man walked like a mountain moving. He wasn’t trying to hide anything from anyone. But sand was better at diffusing approach and diffusing direction.
He felt exposed out here, the wind rippling the hem of his shirt and the ends of his hair.
“So what was it you wanted to ask?” Garp asked.
“Why are we here?”
Garp chuckled. “That’s a question for smarter people than me.”
“In all frankness, I think few people are likely to have more truth for this question than you, and the rest are unlikely to offer to answer me.”
“Ah. Well, if you mean here as in the Marines, it’s to make people safer.”
“Ah. Forge the biggest sword so as to make swords obsolete?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Even if it never works.”
“Maybe next time will be the time it all comes together.”
Even Garp didn’t believe that. You didn’t need much ability to read people to hear the bitter undertone in those words.
“And do you think mixing impurities into the iron will strengthen the sword?”
“Isn’t that how you make steel?”
That caught him unprepared. Issho let out a chuckle. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “But it feels imprudent to test that on the cutting edge.”
“I think you just don’t want to be here,” Garp said.
Again, so blunt. Would agreeing get him reprimanded? However much he might outrank this man, he was Marine royalty, such as there was, and some part of him didn’t want to risk making an enemy over something so petty as the truth of his feelings.
“I don’t see what makes me the right fit for such an organization,” he finally concurred. “But as the World Government has bought out my contract, I suppose my feelings on the matter are dictated by them.”
“You have an answer for everything,” Garp said.
“Isn’t that part of the job?”
“I suppose so,” Garp conceded. “Guess maybe that’s why I never wanted it. Half tempted to give you my condolences.”
That was unexpected.
“The older I get, the more I realize I don’t have enough answers for myself, much less everyone else,” Garp continued. “But there are still some things I can do. The green one has some purpose in taking this job. But if this life really isn’t for you, I’ll help if I can. It’s a job that can be crushing.”
Was this… sympathy? Guilt? Issho wasn’t sure. There were many pieces of information out there about the vice admiral, but there was no telling how many were true and how many were exaggerations or outright lies.
Just like himself, he supposed.
“It’s good to know that the Marines are so supportive,” Issho said diplomatically.
Garp waited a few beats, then laughed. “I almost bought that,” he said. “And I would have assumed you were hopeless if you meant it.”
So this whole thing was just a chance to size up the new folks. Maybe they got permission through the power of their combined history in the corps, or maybe the fleet admiral just did it to get them out of his hair. Issho didn’t know him well enough to be sure, but he seemed spread thin enough that that could make some sense. But size them up for what?
Or maybe he was just trying to prepare them. Issho didn’t think Ryokugyu had any interest in listening to warnings, and as for him?
“Respectfully,” Issho replied. “I think it’s better for me to see what this wicked world will put before an admiral than to run away before it starts. The world is vast, and I wouldn’t have agreed to this if there weren’t something in it for me as well.”
For a few seconds, there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the waves and a few anxious gulls who knew better than to compete with most of the Marines on the beach for their food.
“Well, I respect a man who knows where he’s headed,” Garp said at last. His voice grew quieter as he turned and started walking away. “Enjoy the rest of the party on us. There’s plenty of booze!”
Issho listened to him go and wondered how much longer before he could leave.
He just didn’t understand the point of a beach day.