Chapter Text
Usopp runs to the docks every morning before he starts shouting about pirates on the way back. It makes the lie more plausible, even if no one believes it anyways, by now.
But he's always been an early riser, so it's not uncommon for him to be the first person there in the mornings. Especially since a lot of Syrup's fishermen have gotten in the habit of using him as their alarm.
That's why he's the one to find the man in the red coat.
Usopp almost misses him – for all he used to look out at the sea every day with genuine hope that his father's ship might be on the horizon, by now he rarely gives more than a cursory glance in its general direction before turning around again.
But the coat is so bright, even a glance is enough for Usopp to register something out of place, pausing from where he's already halfway turned back to the village from sheer habit to do a doubletake and spot the man laying unconscious on the nearby beach.
There's no sign of a boat, or anything like that… Did he just wash up here, like so much flotsam? Did he swim?
Is he… still alive?
Usopp picks up a long stick as he picks his way across the beach, to let him keep a safe-feeling distance while he prods the maybe-corpse.
A poke to the cheek prompts a moan and groggy mumbling, and Usopp jumps back.
Then he tries really hard to look like he didn't just do that, and also hopefully seem extremely cool and intimidating.
The man yawns, and sits up.
"Geez, I feel like I got kicked by a horse…" His voice is softer than Usopp expects, "How much did I drink last night…?"
It seems like a good moment to announce himself, so Usopp doublechecks that his pose is properly dramatic and points, crying, "Identify yourself, vagabond! For you have arrived on the island home to I, the great Captain Usopp, the most fearsome pirate on all the seas! Captain to eighty thousand men! Should your intentions prove dishonorable you shall be sunken into the darkest depths of the sea, lost even to Davy Jones himself!"
No one needs to know if he took a bit of inspiration for the speech from some novels Kaya lent him. What's important is that he sounds totally cool and his voice didn't even crack once!
The man whips around to look at him, somehow managing to jump about three feet in the air like a startled cat from a sitting position. "Uwaaa~! So scary!" He yelps, "I'm nice, I promise! I've never done anything wrong in my whole life!"
Emboldened by the success of his intimidation attempt, Usopp has an easier time stopping his hands from shaking as he puts them on his hips and declares, "We'll see about that! State your name and purpose in disturbing the peace of this idyllic island, or face the wrath of the man even gods fear!"
The man's face turns serious for a moment, brows furrowed and mouth dropped to a flat line. "Island…?" He mutters almost too low for Usopp to hear, and turns around to look at the open sea behind him like he's never seen it before. "...Huh. What do you know."
When he turns back to Usopp, he's grinning sheepishly and rubbing the back of his head. "Uh, I'm going to be totally honest with you – I have no idea how I got here! I'm totally lost!" He bows to Usopp, still sitting down, and looks up at him with wide, guileless eyes, "Please have mercy on this poor traveler, great Captain Usopp!"
Usopp preens. "Well, I suppose I could be persuaded to offer clemency to a lost soul, if your intentions are pure…"
"So pure! Totally pure! I might as well be a monk!" The man promises, "I won't cause any trouble, I swear! If you could just show me the way to the nearest town, I'll be out of your hair before you know it!"
This guy really isn't scary at all. Usopp's anxiety goes down with every word out of his mouth. He drops the persona a little. "Syrup village is the only town on the island. It's just this way, I'll lead you."
The man gets to his feet, unfolding to a height that almost makes Usopp flinch. Then the guy stumbles over his own feet and almost falls over, and he's back to being the least intimidating person in existence.
Once he has his feet under him, Usopp asks, "Hey, you never answered before – what's your name?"
The man's face goes blank for a second, the same way as before. Then he levels Usopp with a contemplative stare and says, in a way Usopp is tempted to describe as testing, "...Vash."
"Huh. Hey, cool name. I've never heard that one before."
Vash grins. "Thanks! I've never met anyone named Usopp, so I guess we're both cool!"
Usopp turns around to hide the embarrassing face that prompts. "Y-yeah! Anyway, come on, it's not far!"
Once he looks away, Vash's grin drops off his face. This time, what he murmurs really is too quiet for Usopp to hear.
"...I'm a very long way from home, aren't I?"
–//–
Usopp watches Vash disassemble and clean the gun with the kind of confidence you only get when you've done something a thousand times.
"Why do you carry that around, anyways?" He asks, "You're always saying you don't like violence, but you always have a gun on you? I don't get it."
Usopp wasn't sure at first if it was just that he's never left Syrup, but asking one of the few folks in town who's traveled confirmed what he first thought –
Guns really aren't a common weapon. Even in the Marines, most people just use swords unless they're dedicated snipers, and the same for pirates. Like Dad.
And most guns you can buy, according to the woman Usopp asked, are basically useless. They don't shoot straight and they're impossible to reload quickly and they misfire about as often as they don't.
(He's not really sure why she knows all that and he's kind of freaked out about it. Why does the granny who sells him discounted vegetables and pinches his cheeks have extensive opinions about firearms? Grannies shouldn't have pasts, it's weird. They should just like… appear, or something.)
Anyway, she said basically the only guns worth using are custom ones, the kind high ranking Marines or strong pirates can afford to have made specially. And anyone knows guns are for killing.
So for Vash, who's the kind of guy who feels bad squishing mosquitos, to not only carry around a weapon like that but handle it like he actually knows how to use it…
It just doesn't make any sense.
Vash doesn't look up from the gun, cleaning it with mechanical precision. "Ah… Guns aren't very common here, right? A few people have given me weird looks after noticing it…"
Usopp shakes his head. Then he remembers Vash can't see it and says, "I think only snipers really use them."
"Like your dad?"
"Yeah."
Vash puts the cleaning cloth aside, apparently done, and reassembles the gun so fast Usopp can't actually follow the movements.
He sets it on his lap, and then turns to Usopp with a smile. "I guess in a place like this, you don't really see anyone with a gun who isn't in the business of using it on people, huh?" Usopp's responding nod doesn't seem to surprise him, "I thought so. It's not like that where I'm from at all."
"No?"
Vash's eyes go distant, and he fiddles with one of the buckles on his left arm. "Back home… It's not the only weapon you'd see, but it's definitely the most common one. Just about everyone carried some kind of gun, even if they never once ended up firing it." He picks up the weapon in his lap, spinning it idly around a finger, "One time I was in a bar with a bunch of housewives, ladies who'd probably never raised a hand in anger in their whole lives, and then a famous outlaw walked in and they all pulled guns on him at once! My eyes almost popped out of my head from shock!"
Usopp leans in. "No way."
"It's true, I swear! The whole town was armed! Even the kids had little toy revolvers!" Vash is an animated speaker when he gets going, hands flying to and fro as he makes exaggerated faces and gestures to convey his points, "They chased him all over for hours! He couldn't get a moment of peace! He'd try to hide behind the chimney on someone's roof and a little old lady would crawl out the window with a rifle!"
Usopp listens intently to Vash as he weaves a tale of the hapless outlaw's attempts to evade a whole city out for the price on his head, and thinks to himself:
No wonder he's so easy to get along with. He's the same as I am.
–//–
Many miles away but nonetheless fewer than you might expect, a man on a trash covered beach looks at the sea like it's going to eat him and says, with the tone of a man who feels he should be inured to absurdity but hasn't succeeded in becoming immune just yet, "What the Hell have you gotten me into this time, Needle-Noggin?"
The only answer is the sound of crashing waves in the distance.
The man drops his head against the massive cross in his lap and sighs.