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dethoratsI wrote two quasi-related drabbles that Oda will no doubt eventually crush with canon.
Title: Memento Mori
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tangentially Shanks/Ben
Word Count: 611
A/N: Title not really relevant precisely, but fitting imo nonetheless
The boats, using the same technology as the Navy to cross the Calm Belt safely and swiftly, sped off in all four directions, the three men aboard each small craft rapidly fading into the horizon. Ben watched Shanks watch them leave and only just managed to hide a wince at the thunderheads flashing in the captain’s eyes when the redhead finally turned from the prow. The bottle of West Blue sake was empty again, if he was any judge of that particular furrow between Shanks’ brows, and he and Lucky Roux glanced at each other before the heavyset man edged over to the captain’s side with a replacement.
The tan column of Shanks’ neck surged like the surf as the alcohol disappeared down the captain’s throat and, not for the first time since the great disaster, Ben had to hold his tongue. For a change, alcohol did not seem like an answer. Nor did it seem to be functioning at all well as a palliative. At least the captain wasn’t hungover, although Ben almost wished he was. A whiny Shanks was not an angry Shanks and the dark mood hanging over the ship had everyone on edge. Ben didn’t bother to suppress his sigh as he carried yet another bottle over to the captain. It would be a few days before their messengers came back; time spent wondering and waiting on what the word would be from their friends, their rivals, and their enemies. In the meantime they had a visit from Sengoku or his chosen messenger to deal with and a New World changed irrevocably before they had intended.
Change. It was the ultimate goal and yet anathema. The static balance of power had been broken by perhaps the worst possible party and Ben was not yet sure if Shanks had the patience to wait Blackbeard out. The man’s motives were obscured and his goals were not entirely clear beyond a desire for power. Understanding him would be the key to destroying him but there was no one alive on the sea who Shanks despised more. Keeping their agenda intact and progressing at the right time would now be tricky. Patience was what was called for but patience, prudent as it was, was something even Ben was having trouble accepting. Shanks had admirable control when he wanted it but a part of Ben was almost hoping for it to slip free of the captain’s grasp, for the orders to come and for his sensible advice to be overridden. Something had to give, if only because the tension in the air was practically visible. Indeed, the look in Shanks’ eyes as they exchanged bottles promised violence but his voice was calm as he leaned briefly against his first mate’s side.
“An era ends today. I know they’ll do it properly and they deserve their privacy but I wish I could be there.”
Shanks hoisted his sake, eyes slipping shut as he gave his toast. “To Whitebeard and to Ace. And to Roger, that dear old bastard, for causing a ruckus even now.”
He drank, one long pull that nearly emptied the bottle, before he offered up the last swallow. Ben solemnly took the bottle and stared out across the waves. Then he met Shanks’ gaze and nodded. “To them…and to a better future.”
The sake burned on its way down but the sting eased with the first sips from yet another bottle. On the Red Force that night, like most nights, they drank. But the laughter held a bitter edge and the smiles were tinged with sorrow, and they all stayed up to watch the red dawning of the new day.
Title: Farewell
Rating: G
Pairing: None, Gen featuring Whitebeard's crew, only Marco mentioned by name
Word Count: 311
A/N: Some closure, except not really
They buried them at sunset, two bodies that had contained so much vitality and that were now lifeless shells. The nurses had done their best, hiding ghastly wounds and rendering mangled flesh into a semblance of normalcy. But nothing could disguise the absence of what was missing, the lives that had touched their own so deeply. Two outsized personalities, the reigning lord and his cherished protégé, the very heart and soul of a family that now had to regroup, find a purpose without the guidance of their father or the companionship of their brother. The Whitebeard Pirates numbered into the thousands across the whole of the fleet, and they gathered together, in what boats were still sea-worthy, with their wounds and their sorrow to bid farewell to their own.
There would be no land-based graves, no permanent markers. Nothing that could be despoiled by those who did not understand what it meant to be a pirate, to be a son of the great man, to know Ace’s history and not care, to be a part of their family. The sea, which had been both mistress and threat, would be their resting place at last, claiming two of her own. One large raft carried both the father and the son, together for one last journey that they would be taking alone, leaving the rest of their family behind. Marco, with his gift of fiery life, laid the first torch with a flame that was at once familiar and cold. The reds and oranges of the fire no longer seemed as cheerful as they once had and he forced himself to watch as the pyre drifted slowly away towards the sinking sun. The air was quiet but for the sound of wind and waves and it was in the darkness before moonrise that the final flame sank beneath the sea and was extinguished.
Title: Memento Mori
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tangentially Shanks/Ben
Word Count: 611
A/N: Title not really relevant precisely, but fitting imo nonetheless
The boats, using the same technology as the Navy to cross the Calm Belt safely and swiftly, sped off in all four directions, the three men aboard each small craft rapidly fading into the horizon. Ben watched Shanks watch them leave and only just managed to hide a wince at the thunderheads flashing in the captain’s eyes when the redhead finally turned from the prow. The bottle of West Blue sake was empty again, if he was any judge of that particular furrow between Shanks’ brows, and he and Lucky Roux glanced at each other before the heavyset man edged over to the captain’s side with a replacement.
The tan column of Shanks’ neck surged like the surf as the alcohol disappeared down the captain’s throat and, not for the first time since the great disaster, Ben had to hold his tongue. For a change, alcohol did not seem like an answer. Nor did it seem to be functioning at all well as a palliative. At least the captain wasn’t hungover, although Ben almost wished he was. A whiny Shanks was not an angry Shanks and the dark mood hanging over the ship had everyone on edge. Ben didn’t bother to suppress his sigh as he carried yet another bottle over to the captain. It would be a few days before their messengers came back; time spent wondering and waiting on what the word would be from their friends, their rivals, and their enemies. In the meantime they had a visit from Sengoku or his chosen messenger to deal with and a New World changed irrevocably before they had intended.
Change. It was the ultimate goal and yet anathema. The static balance of power had been broken by perhaps the worst possible party and Ben was not yet sure if Shanks had the patience to wait Blackbeard out. The man’s motives were obscured and his goals were not entirely clear beyond a desire for power. Understanding him would be the key to destroying him but there was no one alive on the sea who Shanks despised more. Keeping their agenda intact and progressing at the right time would now be tricky. Patience was what was called for but patience, prudent as it was, was something even Ben was having trouble accepting. Shanks had admirable control when he wanted it but a part of Ben was almost hoping for it to slip free of the captain’s grasp, for the orders to come and for his sensible advice to be overridden. Something had to give, if only because the tension in the air was practically visible. Indeed, the look in Shanks’ eyes as they exchanged bottles promised violence but his voice was calm as he leaned briefly against his first mate’s side.
“An era ends today. I know they’ll do it properly and they deserve their privacy but I wish I could be there.”
Shanks hoisted his sake, eyes slipping shut as he gave his toast. “To Whitebeard and to Ace. And to Roger, that dear old bastard, for causing a ruckus even now.”
He drank, one long pull that nearly emptied the bottle, before he offered up the last swallow. Ben solemnly took the bottle and stared out across the waves. Then he met Shanks’ gaze and nodded. “To them…and to a better future.”
The sake burned on its way down but the sting eased with the first sips from yet another bottle. On the Red Force that night, like most nights, they drank. But the laughter held a bitter edge and the smiles were tinged with sorrow, and they all stayed up to watch the red dawning of the new day.
Title: Farewell
Rating: G
Pairing: None, Gen featuring Whitebeard's crew, only Marco mentioned by name
Word Count: 311
A/N: Some closure, except not really
They buried them at sunset, two bodies that had contained so much vitality and that were now lifeless shells. The nurses had done their best, hiding ghastly wounds and rendering mangled flesh into a semblance of normalcy. But nothing could disguise the absence of what was missing, the lives that had touched their own so deeply. Two outsized personalities, the reigning lord and his cherished protégé, the very heart and soul of a family that now had to regroup, find a purpose without the guidance of their father or the companionship of their brother. The Whitebeard Pirates numbered into the thousands across the whole of the fleet, and they gathered together, in what boats were still sea-worthy, with their wounds and their sorrow to bid farewell to their own.
There would be no land-based graves, no permanent markers. Nothing that could be despoiled by those who did not understand what it meant to be a pirate, to be a son of the great man, to know Ace’s history and not care, to be a part of their family. The sea, which had been both mistress and threat, would be their resting place at last, claiming two of her own. One large raft carried both the father and the son, together for one last journey that they would be taking alone, leaving the rest of their family behind. Marco, with his gift of fiery life, laid the first torch with a flame that was at once familiar and cold. The reds and oranges of the fire no longer seemed as cheerful as they once had and he forced himself to watch as the pyre drifted slowly away towards the sinking sun. The air was quiet but for the sound of wind and waves and it was in the darkness before moonrise that the final flame sank beneath the sea and was extinguished.
