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The bar was noisy, but that was to be expected. Two crews in one place? That was bound to be bad enough. When one of them was the Red-Haired Pirates?
Absolute chaos.
Luckily, your crew were smart enough to not do anything stupid. The Yonko was known to be fair, and while you weren't allies, as long as you didn't show to be a threat, you knew he wouldn't attack.
'Especially when he's drunk,' you muse, watching him weave a little on his feet as he took aim. You cocked a brow as the knife flew straight....
And clattered to the floor.
You bit your lip to stifle a laugh as the captain, who was easily well into his middle-years, pouted. Like an overgrown child. 'How is this man a Yonko?' He hadn't been this terrible at first; he'd gotten worse with every drink.
"Ye sure ye don't want to let someone else have a turn, boss?" a deep voice called out.
Silver hair, smoke curling from his cigarette, Beckman watched from a nearby table with several officers. Calm where his captain was chaos, every twitch of his smirk said he was enjoying the show far too much. "Ye really think ye can beat this greenhorn?" Your brow arched at his calm, entertained smirk—he wasn’t just amused by Shanks.
Shanks shot him a glare, despite the redness of his cheeks and the fact he couldn't seem to stand straight. "Think you can do better?"
Your brow arched at the man’s smirk; calm, composed, and clearly entertained. Somehow, you had the feeling he wasn’t just amused by Shanks. You couldn't help but join in. "Not sure you can do better, old man. Your captains drunk, yet he's still hit the wall." You could tell Beckman had been drinking by his slurred words; not as much as Shanks, but still.
His brow rose high at the taunt, and he set his drink down with a faint clink. An expectant hush fell over both crews as he rose; the Red-Hair's were giving out muffled laughs, while your crew was somewhere between giving you incredulous looks, blatant shocked stares, and downright mortified expressions as one of their own taunted one of the most powerful men in the world.
Towering over you by half a foot, he was twice as wide, and he looked like a moving mountain. He stopped in front of you. "Sayin' I can't toss a knife?"
Ignoring the way your captain was silently pleading with you to take the taunt back, you steadily met Beckman's gaze. "You're a marksman, but only with a gun. Throwing a knife-" you picked up a knife from the table between you, "-isn't quite the same," you grinned and tossed it without looking; spinning once in the air, it stuck an inch left of the center, "old man."
Either the whiskey or the sight of a losing Yonko had made you unusually bold. But they had challenged your crew first.
You'd just been the only one brave enough to accept the challenge.
Shanks, snickering, stumbled back into a chair. "Ooo, Beck, think you might have some fun with this one." His crew broke out in raucous laughter. Leaning back, his arm slung over the back of his chair, his gaze was fixed intently on you both despite the blurriness of his gaze.
A low, collective groan sounded from your crew, but ignored them.
"Oh we are so dead," one of your crew muttered.
Beckman sighed and cut his captain a look. "Jus' cuz yer havin' fun with some whelp doesn't mean I will." He picked up one of the knives; it looked much smaller in his hand. Without hesitation, he gripped the blade, pulled his hand back, and threw.
You smirked as it clattered against the wall without sticking; an exaggerated groan came from Shanks. You couldn’t help but look up at Beckman. "Sure you can do better?"
He leaned down, grabbing another knife. "That was just the first one, brat." His smirk didn't slip, but his ears had gone red.
Limejuice, the blonde man with a skullcap, called out, "Maybe you should challenge them ti shooting instead."
'He didn't mean to miss.' You stopped his hand before he could pick it up, pressing lightly to hold him down. "How about a wager?" Smoke curled between you, along with the smell of something sharp and peppery from his skin and the whiskey on his breath.
"Whatya got in mind, darlin'?" He grinned, taking a drag, gaze not leaving yours.
You glance at your captain, who looks somewhere between absolutely mortified, utterly embarrassed, like he wants to toss your body over the fantail, and proud you're holding your own, then back at Beckman. "Highest score gets whatever they want from the other—no backing out, unless our captains themselves call it."
His deep laugh rang above the rest of his crew's, his shoulders shaking with the motion. "Bold little thing, aren't ye?"
You smirk as one of your crewmates brings over the knives from the target. "Maybe, but how often do I get to beat someone from a Yonko's crew?" You take a knife before he can answer, glance at the board, then toss. It spins, sticking sharply up from the bottom left edge of the circle. 'Well, might be talking outta my ass if I'm not careful.'
"They beat you, Beck, I won't stop 'em!" Shanks called, grinning wildly.
Beckman scoffed, flipping him off. "Ye say that and they might take me with 'em!" He was grinning as he turned back to you, grabbing another knife. "Not sure if I'd complain either." He winked, then tossed it. A dull thunk could be heard as it hit dead center.
Whistles and laughter broke out from his crew, while yours shot you daggers. You stuck your tongue out at your captain as he groaned. "You know I won't lose." Grabbing another knife, you paused. Shifting your grip, you pulled your hand back.
Cheers broke out as it hit close to his, just a hair to the left of the center edge. You knew your crew wasn't thrilled with you accepting the challenge, but you knew they'd crow about this for days if you won.
A second later, another knife hit closer to the bottom. His deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Not bad, sweetheart. Ye might stand a chance."
Shanks' groan sounded out. "Come on, Beck! I've seen you do this blindfolded!" His drink sloshed out a bit as he waved his hand.
"They're showin' you up!" a man with dreads called out.
Beckman rolled his eyes but didn't respond.
Before you could pick up another knife, his hand stopped yours; his skin was warm. "Why not stand further back? Make things a little harder?" His gaze was fixed on yours, his eyes gleaming with challenge.
You cocked a brow, tilting your chin up. "Afraid I'll win?" You shifted the table back a few feet, then stood behind it. "Fine. But I win, I won't be nice about whatever I take." The next knife flew and stuck, off-center. Whispers from both crews, punctuated by giggles and teasing looks, broke out.
Taking a slow drag as he stood next to you, he subtly nudged you to the side, his hand on your arm. "Maybe yer crew should watch out for when I beat that little ass." His smirk was warm as he tossed the next knife.
You chuckled as it hit one of them stuck in the target, and clattered to the floor. "Maybe your crew should get used to the idea you might be coming with me."
A faint gasp from your crew was drowned by - and you would never forget this - Shanks whining, "Beck, I forbid you to lose!" The redhead didn't look worried though. With his cheeks red, a drink in his hand, and the grin splitting his face, you weren't sure who was enjoying this more.
"He comes with us, you can show him around," one of your crewmates said.
A man with a snake tattoo curling up his chest scoffed. "He goes with you, we'll just steal him back!"
Your crew's laughter was encouraging though. While you wouldn't actually steal him, they'd never forget it if you bested him.
Twirling a blade between your fingers, you cocked your head. "Think your crew could afford the loss?" The knife flew, quivering into the target beside his first toss.
His crew's howls of laughter were nearly deafening alongside your crew's excitement. Shanks' cry was lost under them.
His next knife landed beside yours, the glint in his eyes daring you to answer. "Who said they'll lose me? Maybe I'll just take ye with me instead."
Whistles broke out from both crews this time.
Humming as you brushed past him to grab the last knife, you twirled it on your finger by the tip. "Who says I'd want to though? Wager or not, I could refuse." 'Not a chance.' But you weren't about to admit that.
Your captain called out, "You better not go with them!" But he was grinning nearly as wide as Shanks.
The other captain's head tipped back, shoulders shaking. "Nah, they don't come with us, we'll just take 'em!"
Beckman's deep laugh rolled out as he slid an arm around your waist, dragging you flush against him in front of both crews. The bar roared. "Ye not gonna refuse, But why don't ye throw that last knife, then we'll see how cocky ye are when ye lose."
Startled, but thoroughly amused by his bold move, you flip the knife once before tossing it. The point stuck up from the center. Turning a cocky grin at him, you laughed. "And who is it that will lose?"
He took a last drag of his cigarette before tossing it in a nearby ashtray. Grabbing the last knife, he didn't look away from you as he calmly tossed it...
...to stick straight from the pommel of his center knife.
The bar erupted. Half your crew swore, the Red-Hairs cheered like a canon had gone off, and even Shanks let out a wheezing laugh as Beckman’s knife stuck firm.
One of his crewmates, a man in a white jacket and his hair in a bun, looked up from a sheet of paper. "Looks like it's a tie."
Shanks nearly fell from his chair. "Knew you weren't gonna lose to 'em, Beck!"
Your crew's laughter mingled with the Red-Hair's.
You rolled your eyes, not commenting on the fact he still had his arm around you. "Alright, so neither of us lost. Guess we can't follow through with the wager."
"Like hell," he chuckled. "Nah, we'll just have to work somethin' out, sweetheart." He leaned closer. "Maybe just between the two of us."
Grinning, you let the catcalls roll right off. "I'm sure we can negotiate something."