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She drinks like a fish. That was the thought that she could read on every awed face in the Whiskey Peak saloon watching her drink tankard after tankard competing against men many times her size without slowing down.
She drank like a fish. She scoffs to herself, pretending to be in a drunken stupor as she waited to see what sort of trap was about to be sprung.
She drank like a fish...it wouldn't be the first or the last time anyone thought those words about her. But they never knew just how right they were.
She did drink like a fish, or more accurately a fishman. She knew she did and had every right to. She had earned that right...for better or worse. She had been ten years old when Arlong and his crew had come to Cocoyashi.
She had walked the dingy line between humans and fishmen since she was ten years old. From then on, all of life's little childhood milestones and her growth into adulthood had happened surrounded by fishmen pirates.
The were loud and crass. They drank, gambled, fought and swore.
They spoke Mermish amongst themselves and only ever bothered to speak in World to give orders. Half of them didn't even remember to do that much.
For nearly half her life she lived, breathed, and worked alongside them; only ever venturing back among humans for as long as it took to set up the next con.
Being immersed in one culture and denied access to the other left a mark on her that even time couldn't rub away.
Mermish became her mother tongue even if she wouldn't claim it.
World became the language of discipline, trickery, and lies.
East grew clunky and foreign from disuse.
At the knees of fishmen she had learned how to drink, gamble, cheat and fight like they did.
She laughs, shouts, and swears just like them.
She speaks World with a fishman's lilt like they did.
But she's not one of them.
She would never be one of them.
She walks on dry land like men do.
She's small and weak like men are.
But she's doesn't act like them.
It didn't matter if she could flawlessly pretend to be a high class lady.
It didn't matter if she hid the pirates temper time had drilled into her.
It didn't matter if she put on the coquettish World accent to mask the Mermish sounds that would slip out when she wasn't careful.
She didn't belong.
One wrong move. One sound just so slightly off and the facade would fall away as if it was just paper mache.
She's the black cat on their path, the bad omen.
Something different.
Something other.
Not fishman but not human either.
Something both and yet neither.
Her crew, idiots all of them, were the first not to notice just how un-human a human she really was.
They were idiots but they gave her a place to belong.
She had grown up and finally found her home.
Her home was a brave little caravel on an ocean of adventure.
It was a mikan grove swaying in the sea breeze.
It was an idiot captain who treasured a worn out straw hat more than gold.
It was a directionless swordsman.
It was a cowardly sniper.
It was a flirtatious chef.
She drank like a fish, but she had the heart of a Straw Hat.