( it's been at least a decade since shanks was last in the east blue. he rarely has a reason to venture outside the grand line — but during a recent, and perhaps fortuitous, visit to see rayleigh in sabaody, shanks had received a surprising invitation he couldn't ignore: a wedding, to be held in windmill village. makino, whose generous hospitality shanks had probably overstayed once upon a time, is to be wed in six month's time. if he pushes the ship and his crew, they'll make it with a week or so to spare, assuming they don't run into any unforeseen setbacks along the way. it'll still be cutting it close, though, which sets shanks more on edge than he usually is — makino is someone he cares for, someone important who invited him to an even more important event in her life, who invited him even though they haven't spoken in years and shanks never really had any intention of ever revisiting windmill village after the last time he left. he owes it to her, in a way, to be there, especially after how much of her booze they all went through — that, and he's never been very good at saying no to a party. this time, of course, the booze will be on him rather than the house.
the alvida pirates aren't as much a setback as they are a nuisance, but after several delays and more storms than he'd anticipated, shanks is already further behind schedule than he'd like, which means his temper is much more volatile when the first cannonball strikes the hull. at first, he thinks it must be a marine vessel tipped off from the base at sabaody (who else would have the gall to fire on the red force?) until he races onto deck and spots the giant pink figurehead — of, what, a duck? — and the heart-shaped jolly roger. shanks makes it his business to keep tabs on crews he considers a threat; the alvida pirates may as well be a footnote, easily forgotten, easily overlooked, not worth his time.
beck it at his shoulder before he even makes it to the rail — return fire? — but shanks holds up his hand to say not yet. dark energy crackles around him, his voice like a crack of thunder when he shouts across the stretch of sea between their ships to order alvida and her crew to stand down, which is generous considering shanks' mood. she answers with more cannonfire. a mistake. shanks turns from the rail, unsheathing gryphon as he has done a hundred times before, shouting to his crew with a sharp frown: let's go, boys! make it quick!
he doesn't take pleasure in the swift victory like he might have otherwise; the defeat of the alvida pirates is more akin to pulling a splinter from your thumb that wishes it were an arrow through your chest. trivial. shanks and several of his officers are standing on the bloodied deck, alvida and her crew in shackles or bound with rope, all of them watching helplessly as the rest of shanks' crew plunders the miss love duck for whatever riches and stores they might have. shanks has alvida held at swordpoint at his feet, which seems a bit unnecessary given the number of pistols pointed in her direction, but already one of her crewmates has tried to steal the keys to alvida's shackles from beck, who promptly shot him between the eyes. that kind of loyalty is dangerous. that kind of loyalty requires extra precautions.
alvida is screaming at him, but it's mostly white noise, insignificant rage. (these are the things one becomes accustomed to when spending your formative years with buggy shouting in your ear.) shanks is more concerned with the dull aura of a person unaccounted for on deck — and for the first time since boarding, he turns his attention fully to alvida, his voice calm and even but no less threatening: )
Who else do you have aboard this ship? ( alvida seems momentarily perplexed, offended almost, as if the question doesn't make any sense. her mouth twists indignantly, and she's about to say something snide when the sound of a clattering bucket cuts through the crisp sea air. they both whip their heads in the boy's direction, the whistle of pistols aiming at a new target following shanks' line of sight. alvida says something he doesn't quite catch (you little runt, where have you been?) but shanks' full focus is now on the last member of alvida's crew (surely not a stowaway, with the mop; a cabin boy?) — bright pink hair, round eyes made rounder by the circular glasses slipping down his nose, no older than shanks was when he started his own crew. shanks can feel the shock, the terror, the bewilderment rolling off the boy in waves, and for the barest of seconds, shanks offers koby a warm smile as just shanks, as if to say, everything's going to be alright. but then he's turning his head to his crew with a low chuckle, the real shanks hidden behind the guise of boss once more. )
Easy, men. Keep your pistols trained on the lady, would you? ( alvida snarls, that's captain to you, you red-haired bastard, to which shanks shoots her a withering, wholly unimpressed look. it hardly even qualifies as a glare. that would require he feel something more than pity and contempt. his crew, dutifully, aim their pistols back at alvida's face and away from their newest arrival on deck. ) Hardly. ( to the struggling captain, hearty chuckles resounding from his crew. then, to koby only a pace or two away, gesturing at alvida with the tip of his saber: ) Is she always like this? So ... disrespectful? I did warn her not to engage.
( as casually as if they're talking about the weather. frankly, shanks would rather be talking about the weather, but they have other matters to discuss. namely, who this boy is and what to do with him.
fuck you, red hair, the east blue is my sea! tell him, koby. )
Koby... ( said thoughtfully, as if he's getting a feel for the name in his mouth, savoring it like a well-aged wine. he studies the mounting horror on koby's face, the infinitesimal shake of his head nearly lost to a body wracked with indecision and fear, his already wet doe eyes bugging out so far shanks almost thinks the boy's head might explode. and that simply won't do.
alvida is still spitting obscenities like a particularly ineffective snake, most of which shanks has tuned out — koby, you sniveling little coward, do something! or have you forgotten who you belong to? what you owe me? — until he presses the tip of his sword against the hollow of alvida's throat, a slow trickle of blood running down her breastbone into her cleavage. a deep red, almost black aura crackles around him as he stares alvida down, and try as she might, she can't help but quiver at his feet, the rest of her crew thudding to the deck in limp, bloody heaps beside her. on any other day, it might be impressive that a lowly captain in the east blue could withstand even a fraction of shanks' haki, but he's in no mood to be extending that sort of praise to a woman so delusional she thought she could defeat an emperor — and still thinks she might win, somehow, by using this boy against him. )
I think it's best if you don't speak to him anymore, unless you'd prefer to rename your ship the Miss Love Wreck. I'm allowing you the honor of letting you live — ( he glances to koby, who hasn't moved, the dark crackle dissipating as he smiles wryly, but with a kindness in his eyes that's unmistakable, an expression that clearly speaks to how much shanks truly, genuinely values koby's opinion on this matter ) — unless Koby has any objections?
[There’s a lot that happens, all at once, a barrage of input on levels Koby’s unused to – the visual, the blood on the deck, the crewman (Slicer? Dicer? Something stupid and made-up and meant to sound impressive when telling stories at the bar, a reedy, weasel of a man who’d deliberately walk over a just-swabbed deck and then tell Alvida Koby was slacking on his duties just to get him in trouble) with a bullet hole in his head, slumped in a pile on the deck like an empty bag, death in a way that Koby’s unused to. Alvida favors blunt force, the sickening cracking squelch of mace against skull, the pulping of human bodies into something that barely resembles a person anymore. She delights in it, revels in the carnage, the blood. A bullet is so – businesslike. Quick, simple, one wound, one act and then: death.
These are not pirates who waste time, who should be trifled with by any captain in the East Blue – Koby knows that immediately, as surely as he could tell the direction of a high wind, the scent of an oncoming storm, the movement of a strong current. It’s an instinct down to his bones that keeps him frozen in place, even as Alvida commands him to speak, to explain. He’s not usually her mouthpiece, she doesn’t like him to talk – doesn’t like it when he stammers, when he stumbles over his words, doesn’t like how his voice pitches up when he’s anxious. Keep your mouth shut unless it’s “yes captain” or “no captain” had been one of the very first lessons Alvida had taught Koby, punctuated with her hand belting him across the face.
But this is – different. This is not a merchant or a fishing vessel or even another East Blue pirate. And their leader is nothing like Alvida. He exudes power, strength, control in a way that’s completely effortless, completely natural, none of the bellowing or posturing that Koby’s become accustomed to over the last two years. He doesn’t need to do anything but stand there, but turn and look over at the chore boy still frozen halfway out of the hold, and everything inside Koby goes weak and helpless and terrified, like a rabbit pinned in place by a fox, a hawk, a warship with cannons. He barely even registers the pistols turning his direction – honestly, it’d be better to go out that way, rather than via whatever force this red-haired pirate possesses. A bullet would kill him, but this man could unmake him without even trying.
Alvida doesn’t seem to pick up on this at all – or maybe she’s just too enraged, bellowing insults that Koby’s so used to they barely register anymore (useless, ungrateful, worthless, whimpering runt, stop standing and gaping like a coward and do something!). He almost laughs at that, because what does she expect him to do? Tackle the effortlessly powerful pirate captain and mop him to death? There’s a wild, ridiculous giggle bubbling up in his chest at the mental image, but then the pirate is turning, and something, something crackles all around him, like dark lightning, like schisms in the fabric of reality, and the rest of the crew just.
Drops dead.
And suddenly, nothing is funny. Because Koby knows, he knows he’s going to die too. He’d always anticipated it – ever since that first awful day, half-grown and scrawny and just shy of sixteen, hair still choppy from hacking it short by a beach campfire, feeding the long, long braids he’s had since childhood to the flames and deciding who he was going to be, what he was going to do, his whole life unspooling in front of him, full of possibility. A chance conversation with someone at the village port, an offer – we’ll take you as far as Shell’s Town, it’s hard work, but honest, you can help us bring in nets and when we get there, you can enlist – that was so perfect, so good that Koby didn’t question why a fishing trawler would be pink, why it’d have heart-shaped sails, too naive and excited and eager, overflowing with questions, with energy, with hope, him and a handful of other young men, all eager to prove themselves. And when they’d been lined up, when the captain had swanned her way down the steps, had shattered the illusion with the truth (this here’s the most fearsome pirate crew in the East Blue, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll bend the knee to it’s captain here and now, fellas), the others had refused while Koby stayed frozen, too afraid to speak up, too afraid to defy her. But they had – three of them, young and bold and fearless, saying they’d rather die than join a pirate crew.
Those had been the first deaths he’d swabbed off the seasalt-swollen boards. Alvida had shaken viscera and gore off her mace, handed it off, then looked Koby right in his pale, terrified, blood-splattered and tearful face. She’d seen – something, something she could control, something she could use, and that horrible, hateful smirk had curled her crimson mouth for the first time. You – I have a job for you, sweetie~, she’d cooed, reaching out to smooth his bloodied hair back, making his whole body recoil. Then she’d shoved a mop in his hands, patted his shoulder and murmured: Clean it up. Or you’re next. And he had – because he was a coward, because he was afraid, because it was easier to obey (and obey and obey and obey) than fight back and end up as another bloodied smear on the deck.
And now, apparently, that bought time, bought and paid for with Koby’s blood, sweat and tears (so, so many tears, enough that he’d thought he’d eventually have to run out, he’d have to hit his limit of crying, his limit of being hungry and cold and aching all over, his limit of threats and whispers and being told he was nothing, nothing at all without her, that if, when she finally got sick of him, nobody would mourn and nobody would care and nobody would notice he was gone) has run out. The red-haired pirate is looking at him again, and he’d – smiled, earlier, at Koby, had smiled and repeated his name, and maybe that was good and likely that was bad, and either way it didn’t matter. He was going to die anyway, before or after Alvida, and the entire ship would go to the bottom of the sea and nobody would morn or care or notice, just like she’d told him.
Except – that’s a question. Koby’s being asked a question. The hazy, foggy, frantic snarl of his thoughts snaps to attention, because that’s conditioned, you get a command, you complete it, you get a question, you answer it. The pirate is asking if…he wants Alvida to live or die. He’s giving Koby a choice, a chance to decide her fate. And he thinks about – everything, about every day of the last two years, about the perpetual humiliation and fear and misery, about the blood under his nails and the kicks aimed at his ribs when he’s scrubbing the deck and the way three of his fingers won’t curl all the way because she’s snapped them too many times for imagined slights and the nights in her cabin listening to her talk, listening to her muse about how fortunate he is to be here, how anyone else on the crew would kill for this sort of attention from their beloved captain, how men are like dogs, hungry, hounding and desperate, how if they can’t have her, maybe they’d be satisfied with him, maybe they need an outlet, someone to hurt, someone to ruin, and how it’s only Alvida’s good graces, only her watchful eye keeping Koby safe and unharmed, and how that sort of benevolence should earn her unquestioning, unflinching loyalty for the rest of his life, and how every time Koby would nod and say yes, Captain again and again and again and again, even when she slid her fingers into his hair and left them there, even when she made him stand and watch her eat, watch her bathe, watch her dress, wait to be released, wait to be sent back to the hold, wait to hear her rumbling snoring before he let himself shiver into mindless silently sobbing terror, knowing she was right, knowing that he owed her, and hating himself for it, for allowing it.
All that could be over. All of it could end, right now, with a word from him, with a head shake or a nod. It could be done. He could be free. Or he could spare her, and see if that makes it better, if that changes the hell she’s created on this ship, if she’ll let him go because he spared her life, or – or if it’ll be a thousand times worse if it’s only the two of them, only the nightmare in that cabin magnified, expanded, just Koby the coward and the monster who owns him. The options war in his mind, vivid on his face, on the way he looks at her, at the bloodied sneer that’ll never, never leave his mind for the rest of his life.
And then he looks up, jaw set, eyes hollow, and meets the red-haired pirates gaze.] I don’t care. [It comes out in a whisper, hoarse, shuddering. Alvida laughs, hollow and sharp, and Koby ignores it, somehow, taking a hitching breath. And again:] I don’t care, as long as you don’t leave me here. As long as you take me with you.
( for as uncertain and unsteady as koby's gaze is, shanks' is all the more certain and unwaveringly steady in the face of the decision he's given koby, the decision koby makes, definitively, with as much courage as he can muster. i don't care — and it surprises shanks, the indifference koby lays at alvida's feet. if he were in koby's position, would he have made the same choice? or would he have been more vengeful? perhaps it's simply naivety masquerading as apathy — or, perhaps, it's simply the truth: that koby doesn't care if alvida lives or dies as long as the nightmare ends, as long as he never has to see this ship again. shanks nods, once, his cool expression betraying nothing. )
Very well. ( he turns back to alvida, his expression expectant, as if he's waiting for her find some new way to insult koby. she just laughs, practically keeling over, despite the sword still pointed at her chest. shanks tips alvida's chin back up to look at him, his eyes dark. ) I'd say you owe Koby your life, Captain. ( though there's no courtesy, no respect behind the word, only the well-placed condescension of a man who has earned his rank more than a hundred times over. he sheaths gryphon, turning his attention to beck at his side, who simply says the men are ready when you are, boss. shanks nods, gesturing toward alvida. ) I suppose it's time we show the lady some mercy, eh, Beck? Maybe after all this she'll find it within herself to be kinder to her next crew.
( beck snorts, clearly disbelieving — either the fact that shanks will show mercy or the fact that alvida might ever change her tune — but he doesn't say anything in dissent, just passes the keys to alvida's shackles to shanks and nods for the other officers to follow him back to the red force. shanks kneels before alvida, a sharp smile cutting across his face, with no trace of the kindness he'd offered koby moments before. the air thickens with the same dark energy that eradicated her crew, only this time it feels more oppressive, harder to breathe, like a horrible storm cloud is brewing around him, like he is the eye of the hurricane and everything around him is collateral damage. the ship's railings crack, the masts creaking like they might snap at any moment. shanks stares alvida down, leaning in close to slowly unlock her shackles — and now, suddenly, she finds she has nothing to say, can only stare back at him with the same terror she put in koby's eyes. shanks lowers his voice in hopes koby won't hear, but it can't be helped what the wind might carry. )
Koby is under my protection now. You know what that means. If you ever try to touch him again, I'll cut your hands off. If you even dare speak to him, I'll slit your throat before you can beg me not to. If you so much as look at him, my face will be the last thing you see. Do I make myself clear, Captain?
( the shackles clatter to the deck and shanks stands, the swirling energy dissipating like a wisp of smoke. alvida's eyes burn with fury, but shanks' mere presence keeps her on her knees despite her efforts to push herself to her feet, to lunge toward him with nails as long and sharp as claws. )
Hongo! ( a member of shanks' crew falls back from the others, a blonde man a few inches shorter than shanks with a scar above his eyebrow. he jogs briskly over to join his captain, casually asking, what's up, boss? as if they're old friends catching up and not two pirates who have thoroughly decimated an entire crew. ) Take Koby to the infirmary. I want a full medical report by sundown. ( hongo nods, about to sidestep in koby's direction when shanks sets his hand on hongo's shoulder to give him further orders. ) And have Roux fix him something to eat, he looks like the next gust of wind might blow him away. ( a beat, then one more thing: ) See if Beck and Yasopp can draw him a bath, too. Use mine — I suspect he'll want his privacy — and check with Limejuice, see if he's got anything Koby can change into for the time being, at least until we make it to port.
( shanks releases hongo's shoulder and hongo replies with a quick you got it, boss before he's jogging over to koby with a mildly amused grin, gesturing to the mop still in koby's hands. )
Don't think you'll be needing that anymore, Koby. Come on, doctor's orders.
( hongo leads the way back to the red force with shanks following up the rear, just in case alvida tries anything once they're further away — and when they're halfway across the gangplank, alvida finally manages to push herself to her feet, struggling to the rail of her ship and using the last of her strength to growl, raw and vicious, her voice dripping with acid: )
He'll never be yours, Shanks. You think a mighty Emperor of the Sea can fix what's broken in him? You think he'll bend the knee to you? Even if you kill me, he'll always be mine. ( and then, with another cruel, hollow laugh: ) Remember what I told you, Koby! You're walking right into the lion's den, little pup, and he's going to eat you alive, pick you clean, and then pass you around his whole—
( the hiss of shanks' sword is swift and lethal, one stroke of his blade through the air silencing alvida before she can say another word, a storm of crackling energy barreling toward the the hull, the masts, and anything else in its path. shanks whips around, quickly sheathing his sword again, shouting — ) Go! Now!
( — before the miss love duck groans miserably, the gun decks seconds away from blowing. hongo, without missing a beat, springs into action, quickly apologizing as he scoops koby up and throws him over his shoulder, sprinting across the last stretch of gangplank and leaping onto the deck of the red force, where beck is already throwing shanks a line and barking orders at the crew to haul up the anchor and get the ship moving, now! none of them seem to question that shanks hasn't made it off the gangplank when the first explosion from the miss love duck rocks the hull — nor are they particularly surprised when shanks comes swinging out of the next series of explosions almost wholly unscathed aside from a few scrapes and missing half of his cape, landing in the middle of the deck with little fanfare, the rest of the crew simply carrying on as if this is a completely normal occurrence. he finds his way to where hongo is kneeling next to koby, offering them both an apologetic smile. )
Sorry about all the fuss. ( the fuss, as if that's what one calls casually blowing up an enemy pirate ship. then, to koby directly: ) You weren't injured, were you? ( which seems like a redundant question when the ship's doctor is right beside him, but it's important that shanks makes it clear that he doesn't usually put his guests in immediate danger in the process of rescuing them. ) Hongo will take care of you if you were.
[Almost as soon as he's said it (take me with you, how cliched, how ridiculous, a line from some sort of idiotic book he’d read growing up, where someone gets captured by pirates and spirited away from their home and is rescued by some Marine hunk with rippling pectorals), Koby is certain that he’s going to be laughed back into the hold, that the red-haired pirate’s magnanimity is going to run out and be replaced with the sort of cruelty he’s more accustomed to. Maybe this was all some big test, one he’s summarily failed, one that was supposed to see how loyal he truly was. Maybe Alvida and the red-haired pirate are working together, and the seemingly-dead crew is about to rise from the deck laughing and laughing and laughing, and Koby’s going to face punishment like he’s never experienced before.
The possibility of this (absurd and outlandish as it is) has him recoiling a little as the blond-haired pirate approaches, hands clinging to the mop so tightly they go white-knuckled, holding it between him and the man like it’ll – protect him, somehow. But he’s told to put it down, told to follow the stranger off the Miss Love Duck and onto the considerably more impressive ship alongside it, and somehow his trembling knees unlock enough to obey, to lift one foot, then the other, to walk over the bloodied deck he’s scrubbed on his hands and knees a thousand times and across the gangplank to – to what?
Alvida seems to know. She yells it, bloodied and crazed and crew-less, and Koby reacts like he’s accustomed to, eyes down, shoulders set, accepting the insults and threats like they don’t dig their way down, down into the very core of who he is, like they don’t snag there to ache alongside every other horrible thing she’s told him. Sometimes Alvida goes days without even acknowledging Koby’s existence, but her voice is always there, echoing in his ears, in every panicked beat of his heart as he pushes himself past the limit to keep her placated, as he works his fingers bloody again and again.
Even the content of the threats isn’t anything new – Alvida’s held that exact scenario over Koby’s head since that first day, since she found out exactly who (what) he was. There were no secrets on her ship, not from her, and when she found the bandages Koby’d grown accustomed to wrapping around and around his chest, when she demanded he show her exactly why he needed them – well. There were no secrets from Alvida. She’d made it very clear that if anyone else on the crew found out, she wouldn’t be able to hold them back. This was something just between the two of them, something nobody else would accept about him, something only she knew. It bled into threats, it echoed in the softer, sweeter words in her cabin, when there was almost a streak of perverse fondness in her hand on his hair, his chin, cupping it and clicking her tongue, shaking her head. It’s lucky you’re such a hard worker, Koby, Alvida would sigh, squeezing his face, forcing him to look at the smug, gloating smirk on her face. Because I’m not interested in the only other thing you’re good for. But maybe it’ll prove useful, later on, hm? You could help me bargain my way out of a hard spot.
That concept lodges in Koby’s mind now, the idea that maybe – maybe Alvida’s just bought her freedom, her triumph with him, like she always threatened, and his body threatens to seize up in panic, there on the deck, surrounded by a crew of pirates, of men with unclear motives, unclear desires. He’s about to turn, to scramble back and drop onto his knees in front of Alvida, to beg for forgiveness, because it couldn’t be worse than being alone on a ship of strangers, but – but then there’s an explosion that has him stumbling back into Hongo, grabbing at him instinctively, curling away from the familiar heat and scent of cannon fire.
Except. Except there’s no cannon. There’s just the ship crumbling, the crackling sound of something still resonant in the air, and Koby’s half-turned to look, to see what happened, but Hongo is – scooping him up before he can protest, before he can do anything but grab at his glasses to keep them from falling off his face as the crew of pirates springs into action, bounding off the creaking, groaning deck of the Miss Love Duck as the world itself seems to crack itself into pieces. Koby’s hands are up over his ears, eyes squeezed shut, and part of him realizes he’s been set down, because he scrambles backwards until his back hits something solid, some box or barrel. He wants to stay curled in on himself, hidden from the sight and sound of everything that’s happened in the last handful of moments, but not knowing what’s going on is worse.
So he looks up, just in time to see the captain – red-haired, smiling, still smiling, broad-shouldered and powerful and deadly – swing onto the deck like he hadn’t just killed an entire crew and it’s captain without exerting any effort whatsoever. He turns towards Koby, says – something, he doesn’t quite hear it because he’s jerking back against whatever he’s huddling beside, hard enough that his head smacks into the wood, making his ears ring.
But it registers, eventually, and Koby shakes his head hard, breath coming quick, quick as the birdlike race of his pulse, eyes flicking around from one member of the crew to another, always coming back to the captain, like a compass pulled north again and again. He’s dizzy with fear, with the mounting terror of the situation he’s gotten himself into, but beneath it there’s – curiosity, wonder, amazement at what this man had just done, the power he was capable. Swallowing hard, convulsively, he croaks out:] N-No, I’m. I’m f-fine, sir.
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the alvida pirates aren't as much a setback as they are a nuisance, but after several delays and more storms than he'd anticipated, shanks is already further behind schedule than he'd like, which means his temper is much more volatile when the first cannonball strikes the hull. at first, he thinks it must be a marine vessel tipped off from the base at sabaody (who else would have the gall to fire on the red force?) until he races onto deck and spots the giant pink figurehead — of, what, a duck? — and the heart-shaped jolly roger. shanks makes it his business to keep tabs on crews he considers a threat; the alvida pirates may as well be a footnote, easily forgotten, easily overlooked, not worth his time.
beck it at his shoulder before he even makes it to the rail — return fire? — but shanks holds up his hand to say not yet. dark energy crackles around him, his voice like a crack of thunder when he shouts across the stretch of sea between their ships to order alvida and her crew to stand down, which is generous considering shanks' mood. she answers with more cannonfire. a mistake. shanks turns from the rail, unsheathing gryphon as he has done a hundred times before, shouting to his crew with a sharp frown: let's go, boys! make it quick!
he doesn't take pleasure in the swift victory like he might have otherwise; the defeat of the alvida pirates is more akin to pulling a splinter from your thumb that wishes it were an arrow through your chest. trivial. shanks and several of his officers are standing on the bloodied deck, alvida and her crew in shackles or bound with rope, all of them watching helplessly as the rest of shanks' crew plunders the miss love duck for whatever riches and stores they might have. shanks has alvida held at swordpoint at his feet, which seems a bit unnecessary given the number of pistols pointed in her direction, but already one of her crewmates has tried to steal the keys to alvida's shackles from beck, who promptly shot him between the eyes. that kind of loyalty is dangerous. that kind of loyalty requires extra precautions.
alvida is screaming at him, but it's mostly white noise, insignificant rage. (these are the things one becomes accustomed to when spending your formative years with buggy shouting in your ear.) shanks is more concerned with the dull aura of a person unaccounted for on deck — and for the first time since boarding, he turns his attention fully to alvida, his voice calm and even but no less threatening: )
Who else do you have aboard this ship? ( alvida seems momentarily perplexed, offended almost, as if the question doesn't make any sense. her mouth twists indignantly, and she's about to say something snide when the sound of a clattering bucket cuts through the crisp sea air. they both whip their heads in the boy's direction, the whistle of pistols aiming at a new target following shanks' line of sight. alvida says something he doesn't quite catch (you little runt, where have you been?) but shanks' full focus is now on the last member of alvida's crew (surely not a stowaway, with the mop; a cabin boy?) — bright pink hair, round eyes made rounder by the circular glasses slipping down his nose, no older than shanks was when he started his own crew. shanks can feel the shock, the terror, the bewilderment rolling off the boy in waves, and for the barest of seconds, shanks offers koby a warm smile as just shanks, as if to say, everything's going to be alright. but then he's turning his head to his crew with a low chuckle, the real shanks hidden behind the guise of boss once more. )
Easy, men. Keep your pistols trained on the lady, would you? ( alvida snarls, that's captain to you, you red-haired bastard, to which shanks shoots her a withering, wholly unimpressed look. it hardly even qualifies as a glare. that would require he feel something more than pity and contempt. his crew, dutifully, aim their pistols back at alvida's face and away from their newest arrival on deck. ) Hardly. ( to the struggling captain, hearty chuckles resounding from his crew. then, to koby only a pace or two away, gesturing at alvida with the tip of his saber: ) Is she always like this? So ... disrespectful? I did warn her not to engage.
( as casually as if they're talking about the weather. frankly, shanks would rather be talking about the weather, but they have other matters to discuss. namely, who this boy is and what to do with him.
fuck you, red hair, the east blue is my sea! tell him, koby. )
Koby... ( said thoughtfully, as if he's getting a feel for the name in his mouth, savoring it like a well-aged wine. he studies the mounting horror on koby's face, the infinitesimal shake of his head nearly lost to a body wracked with indecision and fear, his already wet doe eyes bugging out so far shanks almost thinks the boy's head might explode. and that simply won't do.
alvida is still spitting obscenities like a particularly ineffective snake, most of which shanks has tuned out — koby, you sniveling little coward, do something! or have you forgotten who you belong to? what you owe me? — until he presses the tip of his sword against the hollow of alvida's throat, a slow trickle of blood running down her breastbone into her cleavage. a deep red, almost black aura crackles around him as he stares alvida down, and try as she might, she can't help but quiver at his feet, the rest of her crew thudding to the deck in limp, bloody heaps beside her. on any other day, it might be impressive that a lowly captain in the east blue could withstand even a fraction of shanks' haki, but he's in no mood to be extending that sort of praise to a woman so delusional she thought she could defeat an emperor — and still thinks she might win, somehow, by using this boy against him. )
I think it's best if you don't speak to him anymore, unless you'd prefer to rename your ship the Miss Love Wreck. I'm allowing you the honor of letting you live — ( he glances to koby, who hasn't moved, the dark crackle dissipating as he smiles wryly, but with a kindness in his eyes that's unmistakable, an expression that clearly speaks to how much shanks truly, genuinely values koby's opinion on this matter ) — unless Koby has any objections?
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These are not pirates who waste time, who should be trifled with by any captain in the East Blue – Koby knows that immediately, as surely as he could tell the direction of a high wind, the scent of an oncoming storm, the movement of a strong current. It’s an instinct down to his bones that keeps him frozen in place, even as Alvida commands him to speak, to explain. He’s not usually her mouthpiece, she doesn’t like him to talk – doesn’t like it when he stammers, when he stumbles over his words, doesn’t like how his voice pitches up when he’s anxious. Keep your mouth shut unless it’s “yes captain” or “no captain” had been one of the very first lessons Alvida had taught Koby, punctuated with her hand belting him across the face.
But this is – different. This is not a merchant or a fishing vessel or even another East Blue pirate. And their leader is nothing like Alvida. He exudes power, strength, control in a way that’s completely effortless, completely natural, none of the bellowing or posturing that Koby’s become accustomed to over the last two years. He doesn’t need to do anything but stand there, but turn and look over at the chore boy still frozen halfway out of the hold, and everything inside Koby goes weak and helpless and terrified, like a rabbit pinned in place by a fox, a hawk, a warship with cannons. He barely even registers the pistols turning his direction – honestly, it’d be better to go out that way, rather than via whatever force this red-haired pirate possesses. A bullet would kill him, but this man could unmake him without even trying.
Alvida doesn’t seem to pick up on this at all – or maybe she’s just too enraged, bellowing insults that Koby’s so used to they barely register anymore (useless, ungrateful, worthless, whimpering runt, stop standing and gaping like a coward and do something!). He almost laughs at that, because what does she expect him to do? Tackle the effortlessly powerful pirate captain and mop him to death? There’s a wild, ridiculous giggle bubbling up in his chest at the mental image, but then the pirate is turning, and something, something crackles all around him, like dark lightning, like schisms in the fabric of reality, and the rest of the crew just.
Drops dead.
And suddenly, nothing is funny. Because Koby knows, he knows he’s going to die too. He’d always anticipated it – ever since that first awful day, half-grown and scrawny and just shy of sixteen, hair still choppy from hacking it short by a beach campfire, feeding the long, long braids he’s had since childhood to the flames and deciding who he was going to be, what he was going to do, his whole life unspooling in front of him, full of possibility. A chance conversation with someone at the village port, an offer – we’ll take you as far as Shell’s Town, it’s hard work, but honest, you can help us bring in nets and when we get there, you can enlist – that was so perfect, so good that Koby didn’t question why a fishing trawler would be pink, why it’d have heart-shaped sails, too naive and excited and eager, overflowing with questions, with energy, with hope, him and a handful of other young men, all eager to prove themselves. And when they’d been lined up, when the captain had swanned her way down the steps, had shattered the illusion with the truth (this here’s the most fearsome pirate crew in the East Blue, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll bend the knee to it’s captain here and now, fellas), the others had refused while Koby stayed frozen, too afraid to speak up, too afraid to defy her. But they had – three of them, young and bold and fearless, saying they’d rather die than join a pirate crew.
Those had been the first deaths he’d swabbed off the seasalt-swollen boards. Alvida had shaken viscera and gore off her mace, handed it off, then looked Koby right in his pale, terrified, blood-splattered and tearful face. She’d seen – something, something she could control, something she could use, and that horrible, hateful smirk had curled her crimson mouth for the first time. You – I have a job for you, sweetie~, she’d cooed, reaching out to smooth his bloodied hair back, making his whole body recoil. Then she’d shoved a mop in his hands, patted his shoulder and murmured: Clean it up. Or you’re next. And he had – because he was a coward, because he was afraid, because it was easier to obey (and obey and obey and obey) than fight back and end up as another bloodied smear on the deck.
And now, apparently, that bought time, bought and paid for with Koby’s blood, sweat and tears (so, so many tears, enough that he’d thought he’d eventually have to run out, he’d have to hit his limit of crying, his limit of being hungry and cold and aching all over, his limit of threats and whispers and being told he was nothing, nothing at all without her, that if, when she finally got sick of him, nobody would mourn and nobody would care and nobody would notice he was gone) has run out. The red-haired pirate is looking at him again, and he’d – smiled, earlier, at Koby, had smiled and repeated his name, and maybe that was good and likely that was bad, and either way it didn’t matter. He was going to die anyway, before or after Alvida, and the entire ship would go to the bottom of the sea and nobody would morn or care or notice, just like she’d told him.
Except – that’s a question. Koby’s being asked a question. The hazy, foggy, frantic snarl of his thoughts snaps to attention, because that’s conditioned, you get a command, you complete it, you get a question, you answer it. The pirate is asking if…he wants Alvida to live or die. He’s giving Koby a choice, a chance to decide her fate. And he thinks about – everything, about every day of the last two years, about the perpetual humiliation and fear and misery, about the blood under his nails and the kicks aimed at his ribs when he’s scrubbing the deck and the way three of his fingers won’t curl all the way because she’s snapped them too many times for imagined slights and the nights in her cabin listening to her talk, listening to her muse about how fortunate he is to be here, how anyone else on the crew would kill for this sort of attention from their beloved captain, how men are like dogs, hungry, hounding and desperate, how if they can’t have her, maybe they’d be satisfied with him, maybe they need an outlet, someone to hurt, someone to ruin, and how it’s only Alvida’s good graces, only her watchful eye keeping Koby safe and unharmed, and how that sort of benevolence should earn her unquestioning, unflinching loyalty for the rest of his life, and how every time Koby would nod and say yes, Captain again and again and again and again, even when she slid her fingers into his hair and left them there, even when she made him stand and watch her eat, watch her bathe, watch her dress, wait to be released, wait to be sent back to the hold, wait to hear her rumbling snoring before he let himself shiver into mindless silently sobbing terror, knowing she was right, knowing that he owed her, and hating himself for it, for allowing it.
All that could be over. All of it could end, right now, with a word from him, with a head shake or a nod. It could be done. He could be free. Or he could spare her, and see if that makes it better, if that changes the hell she’s created on this ship, if she’ll let him go because he spared her life, or – or if it’ll be a thousand times worse if it’s only the two of them, only the nightmare in that cabin magnified, expanded, just Koby the coward and the monster who owns him. The options war in his mind, vivid on his face, on the way he looks at her, at the bloodied sneer that’ll never, never leave his mind for the rest of his life.
And then he looks up, jaw set, eyes hollow, and meets the red-haired pirates gaze.] I don’t care. [It comes out in a whisper, hoarse, shuddering. Alvida laughs, hollow and sharp, and Koby ignores it, somehow, taking a hitching breath. And again:] I don’t care, as long as you don’t leave me here. As long as you take me with you.
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Very well. ( he turns back to alvida, his expression expectant, as if he's waiting for her find some new way to insult koby. she just laughs, practically keeling over, despite the sword still pointed at her chest. shanks tips alvida's chin back up to look at him, his eyes dark. ) I'd say you owe Koby your life, Captain. ( though there's no courtesy, no respect behind the word, only the well-placed condescension of a man who has earned his rank more than a hundred times over. he sheaths gryphon, turning his attention to beck at his side, who simply says the men are ready when you are, boss. shanks nods, gesturing toward alvida. ) I suppose it's time we show the lady some mercy, eh, Beck? Maybe after all this she'll find it within herself to be kinder to her next crew.
( beck snorts, clearly disbelieving — either the fact that shanks will show mercy or the fact that alvida might ever change her tune — but he doesn't say anything in dissent, just passes the keys to alvida's shackles to shanks and nods for the other officers to follow him back to the red force. shanks kneels before alvida, a sharp smile cutting across his face, with no trace of the kindness he'd offered koby moments before. the air thickens with the same dark energy that eradicated her crew, only this time it feels more oppressive, harder to breathe, like a horrible storm cloud is brewing around him, like he is the eye of the hurricane and everything around him is collateral damage. the ship's railings crack, the masts creaking like they might snap at any moment. shanks stares alvida down, leaning in close to slowly unlock her shackles — and now, suddenly, she finds she has nothing to say, can only stare back at him with the same terror she put in koby's eyes. shanks lowers his voice in hopes koby won't hear, but it can't be helped what the wind might carry. )
Koby is under my protection now. You know what that means. If you ever try to touch him again, I'll cut your hands off. If you even dare speak to him, I'll slit your throat before you can beg me not to. If you so much as look at him, my face will be the last thing you see. Do I make myself clear, Captain?
( the shackles clatter to the deck and shanks stands, the swirling energy dissipating like a wisp of smoke. alvida's eyes burn with fury, but shanks' mere presence keeps her on her knees despite her efforts to push herself to her feet, to lunge toward him with nails as long and sharp as claws. )
Hongo! ( a member of shanks' crew falls back from the others, a blonde man a few inches shorter than shanks with a scar above his eyebrow. he jogs briskly over to join his captain, casually asking, what's up, boss? as if they're old friends catching up and not two pirates who have thoroughly decimated an entire crew. ) Take Koby to the infirmary. I want a full medical report by sundown. ( hongo nods, about to sidestep in koby's direction when shanks sets his hand on hongo's shoulder to give him further orders. ) And have Roux fix him something to eat, he looks like the next gust of wind might blow him away. ( a beat, then one more thing: ) See if Beck and Yasopp can draw him a bath, too. Use mine — I suspect he'll want his privacy — and check with Limejuice, see if he's got anything Koby can change into for the time being, at least until we make it to port.
( shanks releases hongo's shoulder and hongo replies with a quick you got it, boss before he's jogging over to koby with a mildly amused grin, gesturing to the mop still in koby's hands. )
Don't think you'll be needing that anymore, Koby. Come on, doctor's orders.
( hongo leads the way back to the red force with shanks following up the rear, just in case alvida tries anything once they're further away — and when they're halfway across the gangplank, alvida finally manages to push herself to her feet, struggling to the rail of her ship and using the last of her strength to growl, raw and vicious, her voice dripping with acid: )
He'll never be yours, Shanks. You think a mighty Emperor of the Sea can fix what's broken in him? You think he'll bend the knee to you? Even if you kill me, he'll always be mine. ( and then, with another cruel, hollow laugh: ) Remember what I told you, Koby! You're walking right into the lion's den, little pup, and he's going to eat you alive, pick you clean, and then pass you around his whole—
( the hiss of shanks' sword is swift and lethal, one stroke of his blade through the air silencing alvida before she can say another word, a storm of crackling energy barreling toward the the hull, the masts, and anything else in its path. shanks whips around, quickly sheathing his sword again, shouting — ) Go! Now!
( — before the miss love duck groans miserably, the gun decks seconds away from blowing. hongo, without missing a beat, springs into action, quickly apologizing as he scoops koby up and throws him over his shoulder, sprinting across the last stretch of gangplank and leaping onto the deck of the red force, where beck is already throwing shanks a line and barking orders at the crew to haul up the anchor and get the ship moving, now! none of them seem to question that shanks hasn't made it off the gangplank when the first explosion from the miss love duck rocks the hull — nor are they particularly surprised when shanks comes swinging out of the next series of explosions almost wholly unscathed aside from a few scrapes and missing half of his cape, landing in the middle of the deck with little fanfare, the rest of the crew simply carrying on as if this is a completely normal occurrence. he finds his way to where hongo is kneeling next to koby, offering them both an apologetic smile. )
Sorry about all the fuss. ( the fuss, as if that's what one calls casually blowing up an enemy pirate ship. then, to koby directly: ) You weren't injured, were you? ( which seems like a redundant question when the ship's doctor is right beside him, but it's important that shanks makes it clear that he doesn't usually put his guests in immediate danger in the process of rescuing them. ) Hongo will take care of you if you were.
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The possibility of this (absurd and outlandish as it is) has him recoiling a little as the blond-haired pirate approaches, hands clinging to the mop so tightly they go white-knuckled, holding it between him and the man like it’ll – protect him, somehow. But he’s told to put it down, told to follow the stranger off the Miss Love Duck and onto the considerably more impressive ship alongside it, and somehow his trembling knees unlock enough to obey, to lift one foot, then the other, to walk over the bloodied deck he’s scrubbed on his hands and knees a thousand times and across the gangplank to – to what?
Alvida seems to know. She yells it, bloodied and crazed and crew-less, and Koby reacts like he’s accustomed to, eyes down, shoulders set, accepting the insults and threats like they don’t dig their way down, down into the very core of who he is, like they don’t snag there to ache alongside every other horrible thing she’s told him. Sometimes Alvida goes days without even acknowledging Koby’s existence, but her voice is always there, echoing in his ears, in every panicked beat of his heart as he pushes himself past the limit to keep her placated, as he works his fingers bloody again and again.
Even the content of the threats isn’t anything new – Alvida’s held that exact scenario over Koby’s head since that first day, since she found out exactly who (what) he was. There were no secrets on her ship, not from her, and when she found the bandages Koby’d grown accustomed to wrapping around and around his chest, when she demanded he show her exactly why he needed them – well. There were no secrets from Alvida. She’d made it very clear that if anyone else on the crew found out, she wouldn’t be able to hold them back. This was something just between the two of them, something nobody else would accept about him, something only she knew. It bled into threats, it echoed in the softer, sweeter words in her cabin, when there was almost a streak of perverse fondness in her hand on his hair, his chin, cupping it and clicking her tongue, shaking her head. It’s lucky you’re such a hard worker, Koby, Alvida would sigh, squeezing his face, forcing him to look at the smug, gloating smirk on her face. Because I’m not interested in the only other thing you’re good for. But maybe it’ll prove useful, later on, hm? You could help me bargain my way out of a hard spot.
That concept lodges in Koby’s mind now, the idea that maybe – maybe Alvida’s just bought her freedom, her triumph with him, like she always threatened, and his body threatens to seize up in panic, there on the deck, surrounded by a crew of pirates, of men with unclear motives, unclear desires. He’s about to turn, to scramble back and drop onto his knees in front of Alvida, to beg for forgiveness, because it couldn’t be worse than being alone on a ship of strangers, but – but then there’s an explosion that has him stumbling back into Hongo, grabbing at him instinctively, curling away from the familiar heat and scent of cannon fire.
Except. Except there’s no cannon. There’s just the ship crumbling, the crackling sound of something still resonant in the air, and Koby’s half-turned to look, to see what happened, but Hongo is – scooping him up before he can protest, before he can do anything but grab at his glasses to keep them from falling off his face as the crew of pirates springs into action, bounding off the creaking, groaning deck of the Miss Love Duck as the world itself seems to crack itself into pieces. Koby’s hands are up over his ears, eyes squeezed shut, and part of him realizes he’s been set down, because he scrambles backwards until his back hits something solid, some box or barrel. He wants to stay curled in on himself, hidden from the sight and sound of everything that’s happened in the last handful of moments, but not knowing what’s going on is worse.
So he looks up, just in time to see the captain – red-haired, smiling, still smiling, broad-shouldered and powerful and deadly – swing onto the deck like he hadn’t just killed an entire crew and it’s captain without exerting any effort whatsoever. He turns towards Koby, says – something, he doesn’t quite hear it because he’s jerking back against whatever he’s huddling beside, hard enough that his head smacks into the wood, making his ears ring.
But it registers, eventually, and Koby shakes his head hard, breath coming quick, quick as the birdlike race of his pulse, eyes flicking around from one member of the crew to another, always coming back to the captain, like a compass pulled north again and again. He’s dizzy with fear, with the mounting terror of the situation he’s gotten himself into, but beneath it there’s – curiosity, wonder, amazement at what this man had just done, the power he was capable. Swallowing hard, convulsively, he croaks out:] N-No, I’m. I’m f-fine, sir.
[Shanks. Alvida had called him Shanks.]