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The first time she met Smoker, she could tell he was unimpressed with her.
Tashigi was sent into his office, first day in Loguetown. She was so nervous that she barely glanced at him, saluting quickly before bowing her head.
He came around the desk and stood in front of her. “So you’re the petty officer they sent to be a pain on my ass?”
“Yes? Sir.” She was staring at his shoes, metal-tipped boots. She could feel his gaze like a physical sensation, the disapproving heat of it on her clothes, her hair, her sword.
Smoker exhaled. Plumes of smoke billowed down and around. “I expect my reporting officers to look me in the eye.” His voice was gravel.
“Yes, sir.” She swallowed and made herself look at him.
His coat flared open, revealing the bare expanse of his muscled torso and neck. The hard lines of his jaw and mouth were matched by the flintiness of his eyes as they assessed her.
It was like looking at a cliff’s face, or the edge of a blade. Handsome and severe. Something you wanted to take a step back from.
Tashigi made herself hold her ground. “I look forward to working with you, sir.”
“Hm.” He took his cigars to mouth and inhaled again. The smoke curled around them both on his exhale. Was he controlling it? The thought excited Tashigi more than it unnerved her. She had never met a Devil Fruit user before. They were nearly as rare as the katanas she dreamt of.
“And why is that, Petty Officer?”
She blinked, thrown off. “What?”
“Why do you look forward to working with me?”
“Oh.” Her face warmed with embarrassment. She pushed up her glasses. “I just…I want to be the best Marine I can be. Sir.”
It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close.
“Huh.” Smoker did not seem to believe her. “I expect my reporting officers to be ready in the main hall at 6 a.m. every morning. No exceptions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They have you set up on base yet?”
“No, sir. I’m renting a room in town until the transfer is completely processed.”
Smoker snorted. “Damn paper pushers. I wouldn’t hold your breath on that. Might take another couple weeks.”
“Oh.” Tashigi frowned at the ground. The relocation fund she’d been allocated would only cover another few days at the room she was staying in…
Smoker rummaged in the breast pocket of his jacket. He held out something. “Here.”
At first she thought he was offering her a cigar (which she would have politely declined) but realized it was a roll of bills. “Captain, I couldn’t…”
He kept holding it out. She took it.
He turned away from her. “Dismissed.”
She saluted his back and let herself out.
Working under Captain Smoker is not what she expected. She soon learned that he was a follower of the adage, do what I say, not what I do.
He expected her to be on time, preferably early, though he himself often came in at least half an hour later than everyone else.
He wanted the enlisted officers to be wearing perfect, crease-free uniforms every day, though no one on base had ever seen him wear a shirt under his jacket.
He expected his orders to be followed to the letter and without question, but was famous for flouting orders from his own superior officers.
The enlisted ranks admired him and feared him in equal measure. Tashigi, as she spent more time with him, found that her fear faded a little, and the admiration stayed. Sure, Smoker was gruff and irritable and cussed (a lot) but he cared for his Marines, and for the people of Loguetown, and for Loguetown itself. Which was, unfortunately, more than could be said for other Marine Captains.
She respected that. That was the kind of Marine she wanted to be, too.
The only problem was that his initial opinion of her seemed mostly unchanged. He didn’t seem to think her capable of anything more important than being a (in his words) damn paper pusher.
She came in the map room ten minutes late one day, struggling to get herself together, and hoping it was one of those days that Smoker would be late, too.
No such luck. He was bent over a cartography table, his back to her. A couple other officers lingered nearby, busy with their own tasks. “Nice of you to finally join us, Tashigi.” Smoker sounded almost bored.
“I’m sorry, sir, I had to pick up my katana from the shop this morning and—”
“Don’t wanna hear it.” Smoker didn’t even look up from the map. “I’m taking a squad out to investigate some reports of suspicious activity at the southern coves. You’ll be holding down the fort here.”
She gaped at him. “But, Captain! I want to come—”
“I said you’re needed on base, Marine.”
Tashigi pressed her lips together. “Understood. Sir.”
He finally turned around, his gaze steely. The steel softened into confusion. “Your jacket’s buttoned wrong.”
Tashigi looked down. Her buttons were, indeed, misaligned. She pulled them apart. “I was on a rush to get here—”
She went quiet as Smoker reached out and buttoned them for her, carefully and correctly. From bottom to top.
“Tashigi,” he sighed, sounding more tired than annoyed. His breath tickled her crown. “You gotta learn.”
Somehow, those few words in that tone made her feel worse than any shouting ever could have.
Tashigi worked on filling out paperwork (always, so much paperwork) until the afternoon. Her unhappy mood persisted. Instead of heading straight back to her room in north Loguetown (almost a month in, and she still hadn’t been assigned a room on base), she walked down to the training yard.
Shigure bumped her leg as she walked. Since arriving in Loguetown, she had only taken the sword out of the scabbard to shine or to get sharpened. What a waste! She was supposed to be a swordswoman, not a filing clerk! Wasn’t that the point of joining the Marines in the first place?
The thought sent a surge of determination through her. She went up to the weapons trainer at the head of the yard and requested a sparring session.
The weapons trainer, an older Marine named Shamo, seemed to take it as a joke at first. But when Tashigi sent his sword flying from his hand in less than two minutes, he started taking her seriously.
Dueling with swords was such exhilaration. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved it: the song of the steel cutting through the air, the reverb of two blades clashing. History meeting history, will meeting will.
In moments like these she didn’t feel like a Marine or even a human, just an extension of the katana in her hand. Like Shigure was the person, and she was the weapon.
The fight came to a near draw—Shamo wasn’t the weapons trainer for nothing—but she managed to surprise him with a feint to the side and get him disarmed again. When his blade clattered to the ground, it was echoed by a smattering of applause; during their fight, a small audience of fellow Marines had gathered.
Including Captain Smoker. He was standing a head above the rest of the crowd, his expression inscrutable.
Tashigi was so flustered that she dropped Shigure, caught it, then immediately dropped it again. “Oh, shit—”
Shamo, apparently unaware of her sudden loss of mental faculties, was kind enough to pick up Shigure and hand it to her. “Great match, little lady. I really underestimated you.”
“Common mistake.” That was Smoker’s rough voice, and the small crowd was already parting to let him through. “But I’m guessing it’s not one you make twice.”
“Captain,” mumbled Tashigi. She saluted, with the wrong hand. “How were the coves?”
“Empty.” Smoker was studying her with his head slightly tilted. “That wasn’t half bad, Tashigi.”
“Thank you—”
“You up for another?”
Her gaze flew to his. “With…with you?”
He nodded. His eyes were narrowed. “What do you say, little lady?”
It was the mocking little twist in his voice that did it. Tashigi flared with indignation. “All right.”
“Should I get a sword for you, Captain?” Shamo’s voice made her jump. She’d practically forgotten he was here.
Smoker shook his head. “No need.” He pulled his jitte from his back. “This‘ll do. Right, Tashigi?”
She swallowed down a bolt of nervousness. “Yes.”
They took their places on the mat. She eyed him, angling Shigure in her hand. Would he strike first, or—
He lunged forward before the thought could be finished, forcing her to raise her sword to deflect. Shit! She hated being caught on the back foot.
Tashigi spun around, trying to get off the defensive, and swung once, twice. Smoker deflected each blow with the tip of his weapon.
On the third swing, he caught Shigure’s edge between the prongs of his jitte and twisted it to the side almost carelessly. “C’mon, Tashigi. That the best you got?”
It wasn’t. She grit her teeth and darted forward and low, struck his thigh with the flat of her blade.
Smoker let out a harsh bark of laughter. “There she is.”
She was falling into the rhythm of the fight again. Attack, deflect, withdraw. Attack, deflect, withdraw. Her shoulder smarted from a blow he’d gotten on her but she barely felt it. He was almost smiling, his teeth glinting in the low light, his eyes flashing. He’d never smiled at her before. She wanted to show him what she could do, she wanted to disarm him so he would see that she was ready, she was capable, she could…
An opening. His arm stretched out a little too far from the body, his wrist exposed. She brought down the flat of her blade with a surge of triumph.
Shigure cut right through.
She only had time for a flash of panicked horror (she’d sliced off her Captain’s hand!) before the white smoke registered. Then a sudden pain in her forearm as the jitte struck her, forcing her to drop Shigure.
She stared, stunned, as the smoke finished reforming. The jitte’s tip was leveled to her chest, the dark seastone inches from her throat.
“Looks like I win this one.” Smoker wasn’t smiling anymore.
Indignation swelled again. “But you used your—that wasn’t—”
“Wasn’t what? Wasn’t fair? Do you think pirates fight fair?”
She didn’t have an answer to that. She bent to pick up Shigure, keeping her eyes averted. Humiliation made her face hot.
Smoker sighed. When she chanced looking up at him, he still wasn’t smiling, but there was a thoughtfulness to his expression.
He ran a hand through his pale hair. “You drink, Tashigi?”
She did, on occasion. Smoker took her to a Marine bar not far from base, one of the many in Loguetown.
They sat outside, a little away from the main crowd. They had a view of the port, where the boats were bobbing serenely on the waves.
He ordered them both whiskey, straight up. Tashigi had never had it before; it went hot and smooth down her throat and she could feel warmth in her nostrils when she breathed out. She imagined smoke curling from her nose.
Speaking of which. Smoker had started on a cigar (just one, which was a good sign…maybe?) and tapped the ash into a tray before speaking. “How long have you been training with a sword?”
Tashigi straightened in her seat. “A while. I know a lot about them, I’ve been studying them since I was a kid. I can name practically all the rare blades this side of the Grand Line—”
“Stop.” He held a hand up. “I don’t need to know all that. Just like you don’t need to know my sob story. Once you become a Marine, the only thing I care about…the only thing that matters, is that I can rely on you. So can I?”
“Yes,” she said immediately. When he didn’t reply, she leaned forward, her eyes widening earnestly. “You can count on me, Captain. Just give me the opportunity.”
He studied her for a while, taking a draw of his cigar, and then another one after that. When he breathed out the smoke wreathed around the both of them.
Tashigi remembered that first day, how she’d wondered if the smoke he exhaled was part of him, something he could control like the rest of his body. She wondered it again now. She looked at him sidelong and remembered how his arm had turned to smoke during their fight, how insubstantial it had been then.
Insubstantial, ha. That was the last word she would use to describe the Captain. His face, his arms, his hands, they were so solid now, like stone. Like they had been this morning, when he’d buttoned her jacket.
She felt a little warm. Maybe it was the whiskey.
“Okay,” Smoker said at last, making her blink. “I’ll give you a chance.” She wiggled excitedly in her chair, but stopped upon his glare. “Remember how I said the southern coves were empty today?”
“Yes, sir.”
He waved away the honorific. “Well, they were empty, but they had signs of recent pirate activity.”
She went still. “Really?”
Smoker nodded, frowning. “Probably using it as a rest stop to avoid dropping anchor in Loguetown. Doesn’t matter. I’ll get them. I always do.” He slid his gaze to her. “Next time we get reports of suspicious activity, you’ll come with me to check it out.”
Tashigi couldn’t help it; she beamed. “Thank you, sir!”
He stared at her like she was a strange bird. “Yeah, well. We’ll see how long that energy lasts.” At her cheerful shrug, he shook his head in bemusement and lifted his glass. “You’re a weird one, Tashigi. Cheers.”
She got back to her room late but happy. Her landlady, a nice old woman, was drinking a cup of tea on a chair out front.
“There you are!” she called to Tashigi. “I was beginning to worry.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Tashigi apologized. “I’ll try to be back earlier next time.”
“Oh, not a problem, it was getting dark—” Her landlady’s face wrinkled in distaste. “What is that smell? I thought you said you didn’t smoke?”
“I don’t!” Tashigi blinked and lifted her sleeve to her nose. It was indeed permeated with the smell of cigar smoke. “I’m sorry, it must be from work. I’ll wash it first thing tomorrow.”
The landlady shook her head. “That’s all right. Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t started yourself. Nasty habit, smoking. You should have seen my brother, he could hardly walk up a flight of stairs without wheezing…”
Tashigi nodded politely through this interaction before retreating to her room. A closer inspection confirmed that the smell had gotten into her jacket, shirt, and even her hair. It didn’t have the stale scent of most cigar smoke, it almost reminded her of sea smoke…
She got ready for bed in a slight daze and laid down. She still felt a little tipsy, but mostly her nerves were alight with anticipation. She wondered when the next pirate activity would be reported and hoped it would be soon. She wanted to prove herself. For her own sake, and Shigure’s.
And Captain Smoker’s.
She thought again about the buttons on her jacket, in the map room that morning. How he’d just…just reached forward and fixed them for her.
She replayed the memory. His hands, buttoning up her jacket, bottom to top. Then she played it in reverse.
Her cheeks warmed. Why was she imagining things like that? It was improper. Unprofessional. He was so much older than her! And more importantly, her senior officer.
She was just…worked up, was all. She needed to calm down. She got out of bed and polished Shigure until she could hardly keep her eyes open.
When she went back to bed, her pillow smelled like smoke.