⛵ a tropical island, in a cerulean sea, a shabby marine-funded school for girls on a hill, overcrowded and underfunded -- korinna, four, getting fitted with too-large glasses for the first time, curly pink hair in pigtails, uniform too big, just like the purple frames sitting on her turned-up nose, scrunched to keep them from slipping down. "she'll grow into them" the overworked doctor tugging on a pigtail, then ushering korinna back out of the room. one small hand reaching up, pulling on the curly mess, frowning, a dawning awareness of something, something wrong. korie, six, hacking away at pink curls, choppy and uneven, the heavy scissors slipping and nicking the tip of her ear as the pastel locks fall into the sink in front of her. the headmistress's ruler smacking against korie's outstretched palms, leaving lines of red, "wicked, thieving, stupid girl, you've ruined your chances, you've ruined everything, pretty little girls get adopted, not ugly ones, stupid, stupid". taking every hit, hair shorn and blessedly light, eyes welling up behind the thick frames. korie knows she's not pretty, has never been pretty, but -- but she's not a girl either.

⛵ the rock and roll of a boat on the waves, the girls chattering and giggling and squealing at the smell and sight of fish, some of them nervously holding poles or baiting hooks with the grim acceptance of a child who knows the sea is life, is breath, is everything. a handful of less-than-impressive marines run the outing, organized for purely decorative, pr reasons -- one of them pauses by the solemn-faced korie, ten, hair grown back long and stick-straight, no more curls, no more round-cheeked tearfulness. the officer chuckles as she reels in another fish, silent and efficient, pulling off his cap and setting it on her pink head, making her jump and look up over the tops of the purple-rimmed glasses. "you're a damn natural, kiddo", making korie grin, shyly, reaching to push the hat back from her sunburned, freckled face, gazing up at the marine with open adoration. he's already walking away, but she's staring, wondering, amazed and thinking -- someday, someday.

⛵ midnight, dark, when korie (koby), sixteen, slips away, out of bed, heart pounding against the too-tight bandages s(he's) wrapped around and around the budding chest s(he) hates. a fire built up on the hill, clumsy hands, fumbling with the flint, pulling out the hasty map (s)he had drawn from memory, the way from the orphanage to town, to the docks, to the sea, checking the route (s)he knows by heart. this time the fire swallows the cut-off long pink plaits, one after another, this time k(orie)oby reaches up and runs fingers through the shorn-off hair and laughs wild and hopeful and open-hearted for the first time in his, his, his life.

⛵ blood, blood, blood in his mouth, splattered across his chest, breath rattling in, out, in, out of his bound chest, and koby can't move, he can't think, all he can do is stare at the smear of gore on the deck of the vessel he'd been told, believed was a fishing ship, was a peaceful way across the east blue, was his way out. they're miles from shore and the captain's swaggered taunting and sneering out of the cabin in a haze of perfume and told the handful of scraggly orphans their choice was join up or die. the others had made their choice, had snarled their hatred of piracy and the captain had swung her great mallet and reduced them to the viscera koby's wearing on his face, his hands, his clothes. and now she looks at him, at his terror, his helplessness and she pauses and tilts her head. "what about you, you sniveling, pathetic waste of breath? i've been looking for a cabin boy, you know..." and koby's hands are numb and his heart is thick and throbbing in his throat and his hands twitch and curl and suddenly he's holding a mop, he's standing by the remains of the other boys and that's his first job, mop their blood off the deck and do a good job or he'll be joining them and his mouth opens and he says "yes, captain alvida" for the very first time.

⛵ the bandages aren't working anymore, it's too damn hard to scrub the decks and polish the weapons and keep alvida's study spotless when koby can't draw in a full breath, his chest bound too tight, leaving burst blood vessels in the shape of the creased fabric. he sleeps in the hold, hypervigilant of every noise, barely able to shut his eyes, even when he's finished all his chores, but he can see the rest of the crew watching, hating, and the heat of the east blue sun has koby sweating and panting, grabbing at the hem of his shirt to furiously wipe off his glasses, and he catches some of them eyeing him, watching that sliver of bare skin revealed with a familiar hunger and he pulls the bandages tighter next time and feels his ribs ache and feels his heart leap every time one of the men's gazes linger a little too long.

⛵ so he steals, he squirrels away coins and gems and risks his life in a thousand different heartbeats of time, because alvida thinks he's small and pathetic and submissive and wouldn't dare, that he wouldn't dream of sneaking away next time they're at port, dumping the bag of stolen coins with shaking hands onto the bloodstained table of someone with a saw and a basic functioning understanding of human anatomy, someone who can slice away at flesh and fat and muscle and numb the edge of agonizing pain with oily, thick, syrupy rum, can leave koby gasping and shaky and bleeding and stitched up ragged, stumbling back onto the boat and passing out in his own blood, but triumphant, victorious, courageous and brave and strong for the first and last time on that ship, because --

⛵ -- because she finds him. she finds out. she peels away the blood-soaked clothes and bandages and lies and subterfuge and she has her hand in his hair when he wakes up in her room, in her bed, and she tells him that if any other captain had seen what she had (what he tries to cover, clutching and grasping at the sheets, bare back hunched over to protect, to hide what's already been revealed) they wouldn't let koby work on his feet, like a man. they'd make him work on his knees, like a girl. "is that what you want?" and he shakes his feverish, spinning head no, no, no, please no, and alvida nods and pets back his hair and murmurs "it'll be our secret, then, won't it" and koby doesn't realize then that he's forged the chain she'll keep around his neck for the next two years, he's signed his own bill of sale with his mind and body and soul on the line, but he figures it out, eventually, he figures out what the price was for alvida's silence, her complicit acceptance of his secret. he learns.

⛵ and koby mops and he scrubs and he cleans and he keeps his head down and his mouth shut unless it's to shout her praise or respond to her commands, and he stumbles over his own feet to obey her, and he knows the crew hates him for it, because he hates himself, because this is his life, this is where all his efforts have led, this will be all he is and all he has for the rest of forever, sitting up late scrubbing blood off her mace with a toothbrush, ignoring the jab of hunger, the dull fog of exhaustion until he hears a noise among the barrels and boxes of the hold and goes to see and then and then and then

⛵ and then the barrel bursts open and someone leaps out and you scream and bolt across the hold, but he's following, he's shushing and pressing a rough, warm, callused palm to your mouth and the biggest, brightest, wildest eyes in every sea in every world are locking with yours and everything, everything, everything changes.

⛵ shells town, the stars above you, the boat beneath your back, the memory of the cafe and the way that (obnoxious annoying ridiculous) blond guy had harassed that little girl, a little girl like you used to be, had humiliated and taunted her and how every single marine in that room stood to defend him and only the bounty hunter had stood against him. you think about every dream that's led you here, away from your island and onto alvida's ship and onto the lifeboat with luffy, who stretches out warm and lanky and loose-limbed beside you. you think about saying i've always wanted to be a marine, ever since i was a kid. you think about how maybe you were wrong, to leave (i knew who i was) and realize how much more complex the world is. and luffy reaches out, touches your shoulder, carelessly warm, carelessly kind and he says you'll be one of the good ones and maybe you were wrong about the marines, but you weren't wrong about him.

⛵ so you stay. so you enlist. you polish your shoes and you stand up straight and you hope -- you hope maybe it'll be different. maybe you can make it be different (presumptuous thought, cabin boy with lofty dreams, pirate slave who thinks he can unmake the world and built it anew). the vice admiral looks you in the eye and you look away, then back, then away, and he calls you into his office and it is different, but you can't figure out if that's good or not, if you've taken the first, best kindness anyone's ever shown you (you coming? luffy asks as the ship burns around you) and betrayed the very heart of it. garp squeezes your shoulder and he laughs and you shrink back down inside your too-big uniform and try to remember how to make yourself small.

⛵ but -- he won't let you stay small. he coaxes and he pushes and he prods, he calls you into his office and sits you down in front of a go board, and he challenges you to a game. and you hesitate and falter and overthink, wondering what will be too far, what failure will result in the man who caught gold roger turning on you at last, seeing you for what you are (small and useless and pathetic and worthless), but he doesn't let you stay in your head, he pushes, he pushes and you move, you act without thinking, you trust your gut and you move your pieces and you win. you win. and garp looks proud beneath that smug (familiar, familiar) grin and he challenges you to a rematch.

⛵ you find luffy again, and you watch him walk away. you stand in the middle of the road and you think about how wrong it all feels and you wonder what's it going to take to make your dream feel worthwhile again. you listen at doors and you mop decks and you learn, you learn, and the more you learn, the more you wonder if chasing down that straw-hatted jolly roger is worth it. you wonder whether anything is as black and white as you believed when you were tiny and powerless and helpless. you toss back shots in a bar and let your mouth run away with you and you make him smile, make him nudge up against you aren't you full of surprises and the compass brings you closer and closer to luffy and his crew, until coco village rises up before you that night, the celebration and the revelry grinding to a halt as the marines file in, as the five pirates stand there, defenseless, accused and garp is triumphant and smug and he points at luffy and commands arrest them and he pushes and you move, you act without thinking, you trust your gut and you move your feet --

⛵ -- and you step between your commanding officer and your enemy and you stand as tall as you can and you tell him no. you don't know yet about a village in the snow, about a world outside this one, about a winter you'll spend toothed and silky-pelted in a river, about the girl standing behind you who'll one day paint your nails and cry into your neck, about the man who'll call you almost-insults and tell you to bus the damn tables faster, about the other whose body you'll learn like your own, one night in a house out of time. you don't know yet that you'll meet the man who gave luffy that hat, that you'll fall into his orbit and learn the way his smiles feel when he's kissing them down your spine. you don't know yet about that house, that place that awaits you outside of the world you longed to save and who you'll meet there and love there and lose there, how you'll spend longer loving these people than you did chasing them.

⛵ all you know is you stand there between garp and luffy and you tell him no, sir and you tell him i disagree with those orders and everything, everything begins to make sense.