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Porchemy is reduced to a mess, a former shell of a man.
He cannot be a pirate any longer.
And so he wastes his life dwindling around the streets of a place he could have ruled. (wastes his life thinking about what could"ve been, about what should"ve been)
"—kinda cute."
"Hah! But a pirate? Looks like a child. Can"t believe he"s worth this much."
"Bet I could get"im in a fight. That bounty ain"t too much."
"You"re a weak-ass fucker, as if you could beat someone who has a bounty of 30 million—"
That last bit catches Porchemy"s attention.
He"s sitting in a run-down bar, slumped against the counter and on the edge of falling off his stool. It"s one of the worse bars he"s been to, with stale air and the smell of shit wafting through the open restrooms. There"re wet stains everywhere, dried blood still smeared crudely onto broken tableware, and even an unconscious man sagged against the wall near the door. He"ll probably get killed later since he"s already been mugged. Outlived his use, Porchemy thinks to himself coldly.
(outlived his use, just like him— bluejam, bluejam)
A drop of something that both looks and smells like piss splatters over Porchemy"s head; a bit of it trickling down to the edges of his eyelids—and it"s sickeningly warm. He wipes it away before it gets into his eyes.
It"s probably a leak, a trashy ceiling to match with the molding floorboards that creak under his feet.
The place is fucking disgusting.
(so is his life, but there"s nowhere to go from here~)
"—but you hear how he got this big? In the East Blue, of all places? Apparently he got both Don Krieg and Arlong."
"Arlong?! That fucking fishman? Shut the hell up, you"re shitting me."
"It"s all rumors, sure, but for real though? How else? He got a bounty of 30 million right off the bat, and no one"s ever heard of "im before."
Then there"s some obnoxiously raucous laughter that grates on Porchemy"s ears.
30 million, huh.
Porchemy drops his tankard of rum with a loosened grasp, and the dull clack of ceramic hitting splintered wood makes the janitor next to him flinch. He ignores the mess of a spill he"s created, shoving the frenzied bartender aside as he lumbers over to the group of rascals he had been eavesdropping on. They"re huddled around a brightly colored poster like a group of rats.
(thud, thud, thud, echoes the pounding of his footsteps. the apprehension in people"s eyes in the face of his build always reminds him of times far gone)
Who could they possibly be talking about? Porchemy"s half sure that they"re already wasted, spouting off shit they have no knowledge of.
The East Blue"s most notorious pirate is Arlong "the Saw" himself. And everybody already knows of the true threat he is, far beyond his 20 million beli bounty. (Bluejam himself had never surpassed 14 million, and he was the cruelest bastard on Dawn Island.)
A supposed runt, defeating that monster?
Impossible.
He halts right behind one of their chairs. He kicks it casually, one hand stuck in his pocket and the other hanging loosely by his side.
"Aye." he says loudly, towering over the seated men. "Overheard something "bout Arlong, who got the bastard?"
The sound of his voice carries over the rowdy chatter in the bar, and everything goes all but silent— the most worn eyes trained carefully on him.
The man in front of him jerks upwards, probably startled by the sudden intrusion. Porchemy curls the fist in his pocket as the guy turns around. He"s bigger than the lot of them, (they all look like weeds in comparison) so he could probably take them on. It"s never hurt him to be prepared.
To his satisfaction, however, the man just shrinks back after taking a glance at him, looking suitably cowed.
"We were just talkin" about this kid right here." he says quickly. The man jabs a finger in the general direction of the poster sitting on the table, never taking his eyes off Porchemy once. He"s assessing him as a possible threat with twitching legs and a shifty gaze. One of his hands finger a flintlock gun latched onto his belt.
Fucking coward.
There"s no use in fighting someone like that.
"That"s the one that Arlong lost to?"
"Reckon so, yeah." the man spits out, and drool splatters on the floor by Porchemy"s feet.
Porchemy resists the urge to sneer in the man"s ugly, scraggly, face. He reaches over him to grab for the poster instead, ignoring the way the legs of the chair creak under his weight. The man under him grumbles, but tilts his head ever so slightly; just enough for Porchemy"s gut to barely brush the top of his head. Someone in the background snickers.
Porchemy flips them off.
—————————
MONKEY D. LUFFY
30 million beli.
—————————
30 million, the highest bounty in East Blue.
And the picture makes the pirate look like a fucking child.
(Something in the back of his mind blares with uneasy alarm)
Porchemy tosses the poster to the ground and steps on it.
It"s just a kid who made it big in the weakest sea.
Nothing big.
Nothing special.
(bluejam only got to 14 million before he croaked, and he stepped on everyone to reach even that)
The bastard next to him grimaces at the crumpled poster, leaning back in his chair and letting out a low whistle. After seeing Porchemy glower at the poster, he had taken his hand off the flintlock and kicked his feet up onto the table. He looks far too relaxed now, as though he no longer considers Porchemy a threat. Someone not even near dangerous, almost.
"Wow. You must have beef with that kid, eh?" the man laughs, elbowing Porchemy in the side.
.
Porchemy leaves him on the ground, two teeth knocked out and blood all over his face.
Only silence follows him on his way out, and the door slaps his back as he leaves the bar, floorboards creaking all the way.
He doesn"t bother paying his tab.
It"s only hours after, when he"s collected a sufficient amount of (stolen) funds from an elderly woman that he realizes where that niggling feeling in the back of his head had been coming from.
He recognizes the face on that poster.
("Bluejam"s gonna kill us."
"No shit, sherlock. We haveta get the gold back fast."
"It"s the damn brats. We should"ve blown their brains out when we had the chance, the fucking li"l fuckers."
"Cap"n"s gonna be back in two days. We don"t have much time, so get off your ass and search!")
Two children.
("What do you mean you can"t find them! GO! BLUEJAM WILL BE HERE SOON!")
Ace and Sabo, wasn"t it?
("Where"s Ace?! Get out here, you piece of shit! Give us the money back!")
No. That wasn"t it.
("Hah? Who are you? You know Ace?")
There were three children.
("HEY! LEMME GO! AAAACE!")
.
.
.
Now, back in the abandoned bar, Porchemy reaches for the crumpled wanted poster. It"s already been taped haphazardly back onto the wall, edges crinkled and sides worn with grime.
The face in the poster is dirt-streaked, but the boy"s smile shines beyond even the faded paper.
He knows that face. He knows that smile.
(and what a wretched one it is)
He had seen it in what should"ve been his last moments, the fight with a wild child who brought about the biggest shame in his career as a pirate. Ace had defeated him ("If I lose to a child, I"ll quit being a pirate") and Sabo had been there too.
But there was one more. A useless one, who had been nothing more than collateral.
Ace, Sabo—and—
("I"m rubber. That won"t work on me.")
Luffy.
He is everywhere.
The poster is everywhere he goes, pasted on all the walls of the East Blue.
There are small-town newspapers that document his journey, exclaiming the wonders of a small pirate from the weakest sea. They are the newspapers of pirate sympathizers, as strange as that might be, and they praise the deeds of criminals.
Criminals like fucking Bluejam.
Sometimes, he can even hear the whispers and murmured conversations about a straw-hatted, bright-eyed but dimwitted boy, who had been born and raised in a village that loved him.
They still do.
Even though he is a pirate.
Sometimes, more often than not, old men and women praise him with fond smiles, and children laugh with joy when they find his name in the newspapers. Parents berate their kids for supporting a pirate, but Porchemy can see their hidden grins too.
.
Porchemy hates all of them.
.
He heads to Water Seven (it takes forever, bribing ships and hitchhiking, but he makes it), where he knows that almost nobody knows of the boy. He"s sure of it.
After all, his bounty"s only 30 million—barely anything.
He"s just a kid who"s made it big in the weakest sea.
STRAW HAT DECLARES WAR ON WORLD GOVERNMENT
Is the criminal mentally ill? A weakling who dares to challenge the supreme?"
The headline"s bright colors burn into his brain.
Porchemy wants to warn the fools.
He wants to tell them not to underestimate the boy blindly, not to brush him off as though he is no threat.
(because he still remembers the time when there was a small, broken, body hanging from a rope in front of him—beaten, bruised, and bloody—crimson dripping from a spiked glove—
and that small, broken, boy has become a pirate— worth more than all of East Blue"s criminals put together.)
(he is worth more than Bluejam ever could have dreamed to be)
But Porchemy can"t warn them. Doesn"t have any reason to warn them, really.
He is a former pirate himself, on the run (even though nobody is looking for him), and he can never amount to anything more.
So he crumples up the newspaper and tosses it to the ground.
He leaves, and doesn"t look back.
The war of the greatest, people call it.
Marineford.
There"s a new newspaper today, and he scours the dumpster for an intact copy. He doesn"t have enough money to buy his own.
In the midst of the rambling crowd, he had heard the name "Straw Hat Luffy" included in those of the casualties.
(did he die?)
Porchemy searches.
----
FIRE-FIST ACE IS DEAD
Porchemy skips that part.
THE END OF WHITEBEARD"S REIGN OF TERROR
He skips that too.
STRAW HAT GONE MISSING: CRIMINAL FINALLY DEFEATED?
He reads that line over and over and over again.
There"s a strange feeling in his gut, and it twists his lungs with all the tension of a coiling snake.
He thinks it may be something like a vindictive satisfaction.
(it isn"t)
Porchemy ends up not reading the newspaper at all.
---(
Truthfully, he"s always known about Fire-Fist.
Fire-Fist had been the rookie pirate who had joined Whitebeard"s crew- how could he not have heard of him?
(so why-- why did this anxious feeling not envelop him back then? When he had first seen the the dreaded name of the child who had ruined his life?)
Even now, he gets no relief from the knowledge from the fact that both of the brats are dead.
Why?
Why?
Because
)---
he could never shake the feeling that the boy had never died.
STRAW HAT LUFFY SIGHTED: RETURN OF THE STRAWHATS?
Of course.
Straw Hat Luffy is across the street.
The boy scans the crowds, leaping to and fro with long, rubbery, arms. There"s a wide smile on his face, coupled with bright eyes and tousled hair.
It is the most frightening sight Porchemy has ever seen.
"ZORO! ARE YOU LOST AAAGAIN?!" the boy hollers, cupping his hands to his mouth. "NAMI"S GUNNA SCOLD YOU IF YOU DON"T GET OVER HERE QUICK!"
Porchemy stands stock-still, his feet frozen to the ground.
Why?
Why can"t he move?
"STUPID ZORO GOT LOST AGAIN!" Luffy laughs, toppling over from where he had been perched on a shop-stall roof. His laughter gets cut short when a green-haired man grabs him by the scruff of his neck.
Don"t, Porchemy wants to say. Don"t fight him. Don"t fight that monster.
Instead of attacking him, the green-haired man scowls and shakes the boy lightly. "Jeez, I don"t wanna be called stupid by an idiot like you."
Luffy just laughs, and the sound is high and bright. "Zoro finally found his way back!"
His throat is clogged up. Porchemy can"t breathe. What"s with this irrational fear?
Zoro, or so he assumes, drops Luffy back onto the ground and pats his head. "Time to go back," he says casually with his head turned, hands gliding over his swords. "Otherwise the witch really will get mad."
"Mhm!" Luffy chuckles, and springs up with a bounce in his step.
They"re leaving, Porchemy realizes slowly. They"re finally leaving.
Finally.
Just as the boy reaches the street"s corner, he glances back over his shoulder.
His eyes meet Porchemy"s.
There had been a knowing smile on his face, and it was far too vicious for his soft features.
And in that moment, just that one moment-- Porchemy wondered if the boy still remembered him.
...that possibility scares him more than anything.